Star Wars: The Lost Legion
by BlokeMan
Summary: Sergeant Hummel has found himself transferred to the star destroyer: Reliant. A shapeshifting CO and maximum security for a walk in the desert? This assignment might be the weirdest he'll remember, assuming he survives.
1. Foreign Soil

**Thanks for viewing my story! I'll have author's notes at the beginning of every chapter as a "previously on" note, and one at the end of the most recent chapter. Feel free to ignore these, they'll be in bold.**

Stormtrooper Richards was hurled against the table, edge jamming into her spine, the momentum sending her tumbling over the table and sprawling onto the rock floor. Her attacker's footsteps rushed nearer, she seized her rifle, rose and struck the rebel in the chin, then his head, again, and again. The tables had turned, as the rebel was now sprawled on the floor. She fired her blaster three times, the rebel lay dead, sprawled on the floor.

Richards felt her lips, blood. Another day on the job.

Outside, the stormtroopers had finished running off the remaining rebels. They had secured their position on Tatooine about a month ago, still, some people would never be happy with progress. She stepped out. The scene was set in an orange hue, evening was beginning to cool the scorching planet. Some bodies littered the streets, civilians cowered off the main road, an empty, burning speeder lay in the road. Above, a star destroyer's blue silhouette set against the orange sky. _Vanguard_ , the head of Travis' battlegroup, being brought in to spearhead the new wave of Tatooine's occupation. Two other ships made up the group, _Collateral_ , unseen, high in orbit, and _Reliant_ , which had not arrived, and wouldn't arrive for several days, apparently dealing with a last minute delay.

* * *

Sergeant Hummel worked his way down the halls of the Star Destroyer: _Reliant_ , as it came into orbit. "Lieutenant, where are you?" He asked, pressing his hand to a switch on the side of his helmet, and passing several other stormtroopers. The _Reliant's_ crew was all hands on deck, too many precautions for such a simple mission. Securing the local garrison.

"Just in Systems control." The lieutenant's voice crackled in the sergeant's helmet.

"What the hell are you doing down there? Sir."

"Just examining some of the new software we have installed."

"We're moving in-"

"An hour? We have time sergeant."

Hummel sighed to himself and switched the radio off. He picked up the pace, moving at a fast walk. He would have to walk half the length of the Star Destroyer before he reached the elevator, which would lead halfway up the bridge, arriving in systems control. "Well if the kid makes me late, the blame's on him."

The Star Destroyer's halls were packed with traffic as they prepared to deploy on Tatooine, which meant a lot of pushing in the halls. Still, he was eventually in the elevator, several officers joined him before they began their ascent.

The officers did not speak, Hummel shuffled and checked the safety on his blaster rifle. He cleared his throat over the low hum of the elevator. After a moment of silence it stopped, most of the officers walked out of the elevator, one stayed.

"Is this systems control?" Hummel asked.

The officer glanced at him, "It has been for the past two floors," he clipped.

Hummel sighed, "What level of systems control are you on?" He asked into his communicator.

"Level 3." The lieutenant replied.

"What level are we on?" He asked the officer.

"Level 6."

Hummel leaned against the back wall, this would be a long wait. The officer at least had the decency to press the correct floor for Hummel. Still, he had to wait as the elevator reached the bridge and the officer disembarked before the elevator headed back down. Then he was on his way, stopping on several floors as it descended back to level 3 of systems control.

Finally, he made it, stepping into an open room, grey and black like the rest of the Star Destroyer, but lined with long black columns, dotted with blinking lights: Red, blue, green. Along the walls were also various chairs, bathing in the glow of adjacent wall mounted terminals. Officers and technicians moved busily through the room or between various consoles, tapping at them sporadically. "Is this systems control?" Hummel asked one of the nearby technicians.

"Yes."

"I'm looking for a Lieutenant Yamamoto."

"Well, can you tell me what sublevel he's on?"

"Wh- sublevel?" The sergeant broke his gaze and held the button on his helmet again. "Lieutenant, what sublevel are you on?" He released the button.

"Sublevel 3B. Have you never been in the systems control sector before?"

"Sublevel 3B." The sergeant said.

"Ok, you'll want to go straight ahead and right to B section and down the stairs to level 3."

"Thanks," Hummel said, proceeding on his way, "and no lieutenant, I haven't."

* * *

The sergeant stepped into the room, it was sparse, computers lined both walls, only two people were there, a technician tapping away at a computer, covered head to toe in black, his helmet covering his face. And another figure, silhouetted against the window, holding a black helmet by his side, this helmet, however, wouldn't cover his face, it was a black rounded cone with black goggles. He didn't wear standard trooper armour either, but olive grey fatigues, black boots and gloves, and a grey metallic vest, an officer's battle dress. Just from his silhouette, Hummel could see his head was bumpy, with abnormally defined cheekbones.

"Lieutenant?" Hummel, stood at attention.

The lieutenant turned, he had the face of a clawdite, an alien race with wrinkled tan skin. Their eyes had a slightly reptilian look, as their pupils were somewhere between a circle and a narrow slit, and they had a deep, thick line running from the bridge, all the way through the nose.

The sergeant paused for a moment. "You're a changer?"

"Yes," the lieutenant spoke, bemused. "A shapeshifter. I thought it would be for the best if I displayed my true form for introductions. If it were to slip later it would cause, undue complications I'm sure."

"What are you doing, working in the empire?"

"Well, I have a right, just as anyone else. See this?" He put a finger on a long, wide scar running down his cheek. "I was training as an Imperial spy. Needless to say, my, talents, superseded their prejudices. When I got this scar, my shapeshifting couldn't cover it. It would be a defining mark, something none too useful for a spy to have. They were looking for an excuse to boot me regardless."

"So you joined the military?"

"Well, it was more of a demotion, I went through officer training school, the whole thing but I'm still on a mission that's a bit more simple than counter insurgency operations, well, technically it's exactly counter insurgency operations."

"How do you mean?"

"You'll notice this force we're sending in, is, a bit large. We had a tip off suggesting that there are jedi on Tatooine."

"Jedi? They're real?"

Yamamoto raised a hand. "Don't get bogged down in that right now. Magicians or not, they are high ranking rebel officers, and we're moving in to take them, alive or dead."

"Well why go in with the troops, don't we slow you down?"

Again, Yamamoto chuckled. "Don't be so cynical sergeant. You're my cover, and my muscle, for when I need it. You're also a line between me and Imperial command, as well as my handlers."

"And you're telling me all this in front of him?" Hummel gestured at the technician, who took no notice.

"He's an android." Yamamoto said, grinning at the sergeant's baffled expression, "you see, there's more going on than meets the eye. He was just telling me about the new navigation software we've had installed, I've always had quite an interest in computers. Anyways, the dropship, we'd best get moving."

* * *

"All passengers prep for departure, make sure your gear's stowed and you're strapped in." The pilot spoke over the loudspeaker.

The interior of the ship was cramped, two rows of metallic seats on either wall with little room in the middle. Above the seat there were compartments to stow additional gear, but Hummel simply took a seat and locked his blaster in a metal holster by the side of the seat. The lieutenant took the seat across, he now had the face of a human who looked to be in his thirties, handsome and clean cut, but still scarred, and now wearing his helmet.

"We'll be landing in the Mos Eisley spaceport. We have priority traffic so this shouldn't take too long." The pilot continued, "keep all hands inside the vehicle children."

"So," Yamamoto asked, "where are we headed?"

"Well sir," Hummel said, "apparently the other two are currently off duty until we arrive, they'll either be at the barracks, or, at this time of day, the cantina. Not much else to do in this backwater."

"You know the enlisted men well sergeant."

"Oh? And you officers keep it completely straight laced?"

"You, may have a point, off the record." He grinned.

Hummel stayed stone-faced under his helmet and laid back in his chair, still tensed, inertia tugged him to the side, the dropship must have been clear of The _Reliant_ by now, steering towards the planet. It would soon enter orbit.

"How many drops is this for you sergeant?" The lieutenant asked.

"38, you?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." The lieutenant must have been joking, though he showed no sign of it.

"Hey," another soldier spoke up. He couldn't be seen behind his helmet, but he sounded quite young. "Any of you guys happen to have some water?"

"We get our rations when we land kid." Hummel said.

"Have you ever been to Tatooine buddy? Hey, you're so dismissive about it, I'll trade ya' when we land."

Hummel scoffed, "oh yeah? What for?"

"Well, food, my rations? Credits? I got some nice holovids, y'know, gets awful lonely out on Tatooine."

"I'll pass, thanks."

"Hell, do you even know how they get water on Tatooine?" The kid asked.

"It rains, they get it from a stream?" Hummel said dismissively.

The kid laughed, "no, now all of you listen up here." He continued, slowly looking at everyone in the ship as he spoke. "If they tried that, there would be no cities on Tatooine. There's not enough water circulating in the atmosphere for much rain, they have to farm the moisture out of the atmosphere and condense it, and that still isn't a lot of water. Sometimes that isn't even enough, and with a couple hundred extra stormtroopers showing up, water supplies are gonna be tight, so-"

The ship shook, turbulence cutting off the kid's speech as the ship began cutting through Tatooine's atmosphere.

"Well any other tips kid?" Hummel asked.

"Yeah, stay in the shade."

"So you've been to Tatooine before?" Asked the lieutenant.

"Born and raised, then I had a year posted there as local militia."

The two fell into conversation, Hummel drifted off, not asleep, but lost in thought, motionless. Whatever the lieutenant's big plan was, whatever Imperial Intelligence's plan was, Hummel could handle it, as he had handled everything else that had come his way. One obstacle, then the other. He would have to, for the sake of the troop to the right and his left. With nothing left to do, he fell to deep breathing, steeling himself.

"5 minutes, landing prep." The pilot spoke again.

"Already feels hotter," the kid muttered.

"Ok everyone." The lieutenant was on his feet, blaster rifle in hand. "Prep for landing!"

Everyone got to their feet, best as they could, the ship shook violently. They stood in two columns, checked their gear and held their blasters ready. Their safeties were still on, but the arrival of a transport packed with Imperial troops was a prime target for rebels, considering the events of the past few months, risks would not be taken.

With a dull thump, the ship touched down, nearly knocking one stormtrooper from his feet.

"Hatch opening! Clear the ramp on my signal!" The pilot said.

The first sign of it opening was an echoing whirring, audible over even the sound of the engines. Then the seam of light began at the top rear of the craft, illuminating sand particles already pouring through from outside. It lowered slowly, it took about ten seconds, an intolerable wait for a soldier desperate to get his feet planetside. The lieutenant even had to hold one soldier by the shoulder to stop him escaping. The ramp lowered farther, low enough now for them to step out, but still they had to wait, until it was fully lowered.

The ramp stopped on the sand of Tatooine.

"Go! Go! Go!" The pilot yelled, his words echoed by the lieutenant. The two columns marched out in single file, the one on the left securing the left flank, and the right securing the right. They formed an oval at the rear of the transport.

"Unloaded!" The lieutenant gave a thumbs up to the transport's crew chief, and they cleared the transport, forming a wide, inverted v-shape at the edge of the launch pad. It was only now that Hummel could take in his surroundings, his mind so preoccupied with the drill of disembarking the transport.

The tan stone of the hangar didn't give him much of a view. Still, the clear blue sky and sand at his feet gave him enough of an impression. The rest of this hangar was sparse. Transports, cargo craft, and the crews working on them. The crews were covered in sand, it blew incessantly in the hangar due to the thrust from various engines. The hangar was essentially an open, circular pit. Since most Imperial Craft had no need for runways, they simply landed in these hangar pods, a fairly common design for backwater spaceports.

"Alright everyone, let's get moving." The lieutenant said. Any non-essential personnel had to clear the hangar quickly, even in run down spaceports like this, some craft always needed space to land. Another sergeant that had accompanied them on their ride took his men and left, leaving Sergeant Hummel, and his new commanding officer.

"So you've been here before yes?" The Lieutenant asked.

"No, but I read a map."

"Close enough sergeant, you're on point."


	2. Four's Company

**Previously: Sergeant Hummel landed on Tatooine, alongside his new mysterious Lieutenant. Now, they must seek out the members of their new patrol.**

Hummel stopped in the dimly lit hallway for a moment.

"Ultimately sergeant," Yamamoto concluded, "that is the nature of delegation."

Hummel took him aside, "I need more explanations before we do this."

Several alien silhouettes could be made out, wandering the hall, nowhere in the spaceport was totally private, but Hummel had to make do, the true mark of a strong Imperial NCO.

"Well what about?" Yamamoto, though pressed against the wall, stood tall, narrowing his eyes at the sergeant. "You have to understand I'm not at liberty to answer every question you might have." As he finished that last statement, he glanced at the silhouettes of aliens in the dark of the corridor. "We have work to do sergeant, in case you've forgotten."

"What are we doing here? What's my job?" Hummel asked in a hushed tone. "I can't lead soldiers to their deaths without a reason, and if I don't know what our plan is, then those deaths, as well as ours, are a guarantee." He pressed close enough now that, were it not for his helmet, he would have felt the lieutenant's breath.

The lieutenant sighed, and broke eye to visor contact. "I'm not at liberty to answer that, because I don't have an accurate answer. Once I talk to my contacts here I'll have some specifics, for the moment however, I can give you an outline. We're going to head to wherever recent intel suggests, probably out by the canyons, should be a bit of a drive and a hike. Then, I do my spy work while you wait. You're not going to get involved in the real work, you're just a means for me to get from point A, to point B, and back."

Hummel backed off, "well that seems awfully plain."

"Doesn't it?" He replied, chipper. "Then let's go, I'm not one to waste time."

* * *

They made it out of the spaceport and onto the streets of Mos Eisley. There was a wide dirt street between the spaceport, and the various houses and stores that made up the town. This street was busy with pedestrian traffic, though the space was so large that the sand-street was still fairly easy to navigate, though one had to watch for the occasional speeder. A veteran stormtrooper getting run over didn't quite send the message of Imperial superiority that they wished to send.

They quickly cleared off the street, the twin suns were already making their presence known, Hummel could already hear the fans straining in his suit and he could feel sweat beginning to form inside his helmet, quickly cooling as his armour attempted to direct air to the site.

Hummel lead Yamamoto to the local cantina, just by the spaceport. It was a stocky sandstone construct sticking out of the ground, topped with a dome. The entrance was down a set of stairs. Building partially underground kept the building cool, so in a hot desert planet, it was common practice.

* * *

The cantina was a dimly lit, smoky affair. Hummel's helmet filtered out the smoke, but didn't help much for visibility. Much like the dome up top, the interior of the cantina was a circular design.

In the center was the bar, lit with white lights, going around in an ellipse. Patrons crowded the bar, the rest scattered into the various side tables. The circular walls were lined with small, again, circular, booths. These booths were lit with single, white lights on the tables. One of these circular alcoves played host to a band rather than a booth, setting the cantina's chatter to a steady musical rhythm. Some of the lights flickered, or were outright broken, Hummel recalled how many were damaged, the cantina had supposedly been raided several days ago on the word that rebels were storing weapons there.

The dim lighting wasn't helped by the sheer density of clientele, their mixing alien and human silhouettes obscuring any potential view of the cantina. It was truly meant to appeal to all comers, there were probably more aliens there than humans. Still, people moved aside when they saw the uniform of a stormtrooper.

"Stay close." Hummel warned.

They circled the bar, slowly. Hummel eyed every patron as he passed them, it was no secret that Tatooine didn't take kindly to Imperial occupation. Hummel assumed that they, whoever they were, wouldn't bother attacking a regular trooper, but the presence of an officer could mean trouble.

Hummel nearly passed them by, two troopers sitting at the bar. Both quite young, drinks in hand. It seemed they had left their helmets at the barracks.

"Are either of you a Private Azarola?"

One of the troopers looked up, slowly, regarding Hummel with disdain until he noticed the lieutenant behind him.

"Over there, sirs." He said, pointing to a booth behind him.

"Thanks."

They approached the booth, two stormtroopers were there, a man and woman with a busted lip, they were unarmoured, but wearing the black suits that would lay under said armour. A vacuum sealed, fitted set of overalls. They were playing cards with some other alien clientele. The woman noticed them first and quickly turned back to the game.

"Alright boys, let's wrap this up. I'll take your losses," she reached over and slid the round's pot to her. A growl rose from the end of the table, "don't give me that look, your bet your loss," she snapped. The alien put up his hands as she secured her winnings. "Now get out of here," she said, nodding her head at her new commanders. Once the aliens noticed, they scurried away. Hummel and Yamamoto settled into the sides of the booth, sitting across from each other, the two others occupying the center. "Oh, Kolb?" She shouted to one of the leaving aliens, an aqualish. "Don't cheat next time." The other aliens, lead Kolb away from the troopers, and they dissipated into the bar's crowds.

The woman had sandy hair and large brown eyes, her skin was quite tanned as well. She wore her hair in a bun, a small one since Imperial regulation kept her hair fairly short. Other than that, she was quite plain, her only other defining feature being a small button nose, and the busted lip.

"I'm Corporal Helen R. Richards, you must be Sergeant Hummel and Lieutenant, Yamamoto, right? Sorry, you only showed up in the roster recently for some reason," she said, extending a hand.

"Pleasure to meet you." The lieutenant replied, and shook hands with his new command.

"Sorry about the game too," she continued, "since we've had no real work-"

"Well, that's just what we'll fix." Yamamoto cut in.

"Certainly sir."

"So you're private Azarola?" Hummel cut in.

He addressed the other unarmoured trooper, he also had brown hair, though his messy hair was a fair shade lighter, his smooth olive skin would have been naturally darker than Helen's, but she had been stationed on Tatooine for some time, and tanned significantly.

Azarola kept his head low, yet held Hummel in a steady gaze, revealing his pale green eyes. "So it would seem." He slowly picked up his glass and drank.

"Well then," Hummel's gaze drifted beyond the booth, "I suppose we'd best get going."

Yamamoto raised a hand, "No need for this posthaste, gung-ho attitude sergeant. Relax-"

"A drink, perhaps?" Helen smiled, holding a coin between her fingers.

"An excellent strategy!" Yamamoto exclaimed thumping the table.

Hummel stood, leaning over the lieutenant, "a moment sir?"

The lieutenant silently scrutinized the sergeant. "Certainly."

As soon as the lieutenant was on his feet, Hummel dragged him from the light of the table, and into the wall.

"What are you doing?" Hummel growled.

"Not sure I follow, sergeant."

"You're an commissioned officer, dropping in with the conscripts. Sir, perhaps things were different in the intelligence corps, but the only way you keep a trooper in line is your authority, which you diminish, every, moment this continues."

"Perhaps, sergeant, one should note that this operation is not blunt warfare, this is espionage. We spies must trust the one next to us, we place more emphasis on self-reliance. I only have to manage you three, a task I'm sure even you can admit I'm capable of." He said, unflinching. "Perhaps a man so obsessed with rank and file relations should let his commanding officer worry with such things."

"Perhaps."

"Well then, here's a compromise for you sergeant. I have someone I'm supposed to meet here, that's why I was in no rush to leave. I'll go look for him. You don't have the privilege of being an officer, so I'll leave you to go make friends."

With that he excused himself, entangling himself in the web of the cantina's crowd.

Hummel drifted himself, for a moment, before returning to the booth. "Here," he began, Helen met his gaze readily, Azarola, Hummel had just noticed, was tinkering with something, a mess of metal and wires. "I'll get us all another round, what'dya want?" He said.

"If you're gonna do that, here." Helen took a handful of coins, her winnings, and placed them on the edge of the table.

"I'm fine thanks, besides I don't really know what they're worth, I know I'd get conned out of 'em though."

"Here then," she motioned to step out of the booth. "I'll come with you, besides, I know what Azarola wants."

"That won't be necessary."

"Sergeant, they're my winnings, I'll spend them as I please." She stepped out and over to the bar, and they left Azarola to his work.

He finished the last of his drink, slowly and snipped a wire from the mess of wires and metal in his hands, he always kept a set of pliers on hand.

Hummel approached the bar, Helen followed, counting out her coin. "So you don't know wupiupi? Weird, I thought you'd been out on the outer rim quite a bit."

"Yeah, well it wasn't a goddamned pleasure cruise. You should consider yourself lucky, us bleeding so the rookies could sit on their ass playing cards."

"Noted, it ain't all so easy though." she said, stepping up to the bar, and rapping it with her knuckles.

The bartender, a stout man with a mustache asked, "what'll it be?" Running a cloth over the glass in his hands.

"What will it be, sergeant?" Helen asked with a sideways glance. "I'll take a Renan Irongut, a Corellian Red, and…"

"A, what do you have?" Hummel asked.

"Get him a Starshine Surprise."

"They any good?"

"I didn't think you were that out of touch sergeant. That'll knock you down in a matter of seconds. Just get him some Lum." Helen took some coins and placed them on the bar.

"Right." The bartender grumbled, pocketing the coin and heading to the taps. Hummel managed to catch a glance of Lieutenant Yamamoto, moving through the crowd.

"Sergeant, sergeant?" Helen offered him a glass.

"Thanks."

"Y'know, if there's something wrong with your helmet's audio receptors, Azarola could always help you with that. He can fix anything."

Hummel took the glass. "I was just, distracted."

"Well here, come distract yourself." She said, walking back to the table.

They settled in with their drinks, Helen passing Azarola his Irongut. "Thanks Fortune." He said. He took a sip from the glass, before dipping his fingers in it, rubbing the alcohol on the contraption he was working on.

Hummel reached under his helmet, sliding the two locks underneath to the 'off' position, this undid the helmet's seal. When the helmet's seal couldn't be verified, it also deactivated the helmet's suite of electronics. The helmet fan was lost, as were audio receptors and targeting systems in the visor. Since the helmet was no longer projecting external sounds, there was a moment of quiet for Hummel as he removed the helmet, met by the cacophony of the cantina.

His helmet before had dulled the noise, now everything was richer, not to mention louder, the chatter, glasses clattering, the music, everything. Not to mention he could breath in the unfiltered, heady air. Smoke and the thick scent of alcohol. Thus, he revealed himself to his new comrades. In truth, he bore the grim countenance shared by many grizzled NCO's in the Imperial Military and was well into middle age. He kept his hair short, yet had no notion of styling it, he also had a 5 'o clock shadow, a perpetual trait of his.

"Fortune?" Hummel finally asked.

"Hmm?" Helen stopped mid sip, "oh, she took a card from the deck lying on the table, "I have good luck, good fortune y'know." She downed about half of her drink.

"In my experience," Hummel said, "there's no such thing as luck."

"I'd think an old dog like you would have more experience."

"Funny. So, Azarola," Hummel turned, the young private was completely fixed on his work. "What are you working on?"

"Oh," Azarola took a glance up from his work, "it's nothing, a small data processor basically."

"Sooo, what does that do?"

Azarola pulled a small cloth from his pocket, vigorously wiping the small mess of metal and wires, "it's basically a bridge between external hardware and the processor's native system."

"That means Spanner here won't leave the thing alone." Fortune chimed in.

Azarola set it on the table with a sigh. "I don't technically have any clearance to work on the parts so I only get my hands on old, outdated hardware."

"So you're like an amateur mechanic?" Hummel took a sip of his Lum.

"You could say so." He replied icily, breaking eye contact and signaling that the conversation was, for all intents and purposes, over.

"So why are you rubbing alcohol on it?" Hummel asked.

"Irongut is a good primary rust treatment." Azarola stated.

"Wow," Fortune mused, "you got a lot out of him, good with children?"

"No." Hummel said.

"Figured as much." Fortune looked at Azarola, who was now thoroughly invested in his work.

Hummel continued the discussion, asking Fortune, "How long have you been in the force?"

"Oh, about a year now. And then I've been stationed here about three months."

"That's kind of premature for a corporal."

"Officially it was a merit promotion, but really I was just in the right place at the right time, that goes for the my actions that warranted the promotion and the promotion itself. If the new garrison didn't need NCO's…" She took a sip, almost absentmindedly.

Azarola suddenly spoke up, "I wouldn't say tha-"

"It really was nothing Spanner. What about you sergeant?"

"Oh, wow," he chuckled to himself as he took another drink. "Well it's been, must be around ten years now."

"Huh." A noncommittal response. "Don't you think it's odd that we've all been kind of switched around into this new recon patrol?" This she asked in a hushed tone, leaning over the table conspiratorially.

"Oh," Hummel paused, "y'know, these big occupation forces are a mess for the logistics boys, I'd let it slide, it's a pain, getting jerked around between postings, but one you'll get used to.

"So you say."

The conversation deteriorated into relatively pointless discussion. Hummel asked some half hearted questions about local podracing, a lethal sport that was one of Tatooine's few claims to fame.

"If we had the men, I'm pretty sure the hutts wouldn't get away with it much longer." Fortune said.

"Perhaps."

From there, Fortune kept the conversation on its last legs through her constant prying, and some jokes at Azarola's expense. This of course, in spite of the fact that Hummel wasn't too receptive to her questioning. In fact, she must have kept at this for about an hour before Yamamoto returned.

"Well gents, madame, best be off?" The lieutenant asked, as though he had not been missing for upwards of an hour.

They got up to leave, Hummel stumbling, it was either the smoke in the air or the drink.

"Steady yourself Sergeant." Yamamoto grinned, and caught him by the shoulder.

Hummel stiffened at the touch and retrieved his helmet, "I got it," he grumbled, and the four of them left, a new unit.

* * *

By now, the afternoon had grown late and become evening, accenting the sand and sandstone structures with the a faint orange. A lone starship arced across the darkening magenta sky, the streets had lost more and more traffic.

They moved to the barracks, under Fortune's direction. The barracks were a large ranch complex that had been bought out with Imperial money, a much faster solution than building something themselves. After all, accepting the Imperial's offer on credit was a much better solution than being forced out by strength of arms.

Again, it was sandstone. A walled complex, round towers lining said walls, the previous owners would have posted guards here to keep an eye on the slaves working the ranch. The Imperials used them now for their own guards.

Inside, the complex had three main buildings, all rectangular, and made of sandstone. As one entered through the main, sliding, metallic gate, discolored with rust, they were met with the old ranch house just to their right. This was the new command center, since it was the largest, it was taller than the other structures, three stories high and topped with a dome.

Past it was the officer's quarters. Supposedly the old storage shed, the smallest of the three main structures. Usually the officer's quarters would have been more glamorous, but they needed the larger slave's quarters for the common barracks, as naturally there were more unenlisted, than enlisted men. Still, they had set up an outside sitting area, covered with a canvas that was some sort of animal hide, this made up the officer's recreation area. Many officer's now sat here, chatting, drinking and gambling with their fellow officers.

Beyond that were the old fields, here animals were stored and fields maintained for the livestock to feast on. Now it was an expanse of dirt, converted into a firing range. On the far right of said field, against the wall, was a black block of a building, clearly an Imperial addition. This was the armoury. All to the left of it was the firing range. It would have been necessary to overhaul the electronics around the entire complex to install VR holo-target ranges, so they made do with cutout targets. Firing lanes differentiated with painted lines and painted marks numbering them. They had set up black metal barriers at the back of each lane, protecting the back walls from blaster fire. Some men were still gathered here, a stray few on the ranges, still firing, and a few more occupying themselves like the idle officers. The common men had set up a few tables by the range, though they were unshaded, making themselves useful only in the evenings.

Left of the officer's quarters were the common barracks, the old slave quarters. They must have been about fifty meters away from the officer's quarters, the complex was quite wide after all. As were the barracks, the old structure was single story, but was both very long and wide.

Lieutenant Yamamoto said his goodbyes and made his way to the officer's quarters, while Hummel and the others moved to the common barracks. Inside, there was quite a lot of chatter, troopers were winding down and talking to another while in their bunks. These lined the walls, carved into the sandstone, small compartments that could hold two troops in a bunk bed arrangement. The bottom bunk had a shelf installed between it and the top bunk, which held two metal storage crates, each containing the trooper's gear. This kept the narrow halls clear, but didn't give the trooper on the bottom bunk much headroom. On the other hand, the trooper on the top bunk didn't have much either, as the carved compartment wasn't very tall.

The barracks were narrow hallways holding about eight pairs of bed on either side. After each pair of bunks was an open portal leading into the next hall. Rather than another row of bunks though, there was a row of recently installed showers between each hall of bunks. A trooper spotted them entering the barracks and approached, he had no helmet, making the bags under his eyes apparent. He held a clipboard at the ready. "New?" He asked, "Oh no," he corrected himself as he noticed Azarola and Fortune. "You new." He sputtered, pointing at Hummel.

"Yes, I'm their new sergeant."

Without a word, the trooper scanned the clipboard. "Good." His head shot back up, he spat the words onto Hummel's face. "Empty bunk, come." They took a left, and Hummel followed him all the way to the wall, the last row of bunks on the left. They then took a right, and walked all the way to the back wall. The trooper pointed to an empty bunk on his right. "There." He said, turning to Hummel.

"Top or bottom?"

"Either, both empty." He replied, scratching something in on his clipboard.

"Thanks."

But the trooper was already gone, "need more rations," he muttered to himself.

Fortune watched him go, with a slightly amused cringe. "He's a good guy," Fortune said to Hummel, "once you get to know him."

Hummel began the process of removing his armour, he had done it so many times now that he didn't need to think thankfully, even that would have been too much effort. Undoing the clips, clasps, and straps. First on his chestplate, then pauldrons, guards on his upper and lower arms, and his armoured gloves, laying them out on his bunk.

"Which one you taking today?" Fortune asked, it seemed Hummel's new squadmates had the bunk across from him.

"Top." Azarola replied.

"You sure you won't fall off again?"

"I'll be fine." Azarola snapped, "trust me."

"Ok."

They chatted while they removed their overalls. As underwear, all stormtroopers wore grey shorts and a fitted white t-shirt. Hummel sat on the bottom bunk now, hunched over to remove his belt, blaster, sidearm, about three clips for his blaster, and all his armour from the waist down. Lastly, and most laboriously, he removed his boots. While the others had stripped to their underwear before settling in their bunks, Hummel could hardly gather the energy to set his gear in one of the storage crates, and collapse on the bottom bunk, still wearing his overalls.

They all lay silent, while the other troopers chatted amongst themselves. Fortune removed a small tablet from under her mattress, and began swiping at it. "Hey sergeant, you were at the spaceport, you hear anything about that rancor incident today?"

"Sergeant?"

It seemed that Hummel had already fallen into a deep sleep.

"What d'you think Spanner?"

Azarola grunted a reply.

Fortune laid down with a sigh...

One by one the chatter died down, and the troops fell asleep, in preparation for whatever the morning would bring.


	3. Work Day

**Previously: Hummel has gathered his squad and has received his orders. Move to point beta so Lieutenant Yamamoto can meet his contacts and verify the location of the hidden jedi.**

"Sergeant, sergeant!"

Hummel stirred, Helen was kneeling beside him, a stray bit of her hair hovering over his eyes.

"What?"

"Deaf or distracted?"

"Tired."

"Fair enough."

Light was pouring through the small window, and Fortune was all kitted up, except for her helmet.

"What time is it?" He asked.

"About 10."

At this, he shot up, stopping himself just short of hitting the shelf above him.

"Easy," Helen said, "since we're heading out tomorrow, we've been relieved of duty today."

"That's what you wish." Hummel said, rising from his bunk and undoing his overalls.

Fortune chuckled, "that's what Spanner was worried about." She nodded her head back, Azarola was sitting on her bunk. Hummel stepped out of his overalls and set them on his bunk, before taking off his shirt, revealing that he was pockmarked with small scratches that had now turned to scars all over his body.

"I'll see you outside." Fortune said, and left. There were a few people still in the barracks while he showered, but for once, he was in relative quiet, letting the hot water soothe his tensed muscles. In fact, given that even the barracks were getting to be quite warm, the showers were almost a sauna. As much as he didn't want to show vulnerability in front of the men, he did allow himself small indulgences. Like everyone.

Finally he got his gear, he would have normally set his uniform into a wash unit that would have had the uniform clean before he awoke the next day, but here they had no such option. Thankfully, the storage units had spare sets of overalls, one simply removed their tag from the old overalls and stuck it to the new set. A largely redundant means of identification compared to a trooper's id chip, stuck into their skin. Still, redundancy was often necessary. Then the painstaking effort of putting on the pieces of armour. He attached the clips for his blaster to his belt, along with some for his sidearm. He set said sidearm in his holster, and put on his helmet.

There was a click as the seals engaged, then a beep as the helmet's suite of electronics came online. Distant sounds, blaster fire from the range and general chatter came through as the audio receptors came online, and his visor began to display information on time and oncoming weather conditions. He drew his blaster, the visor projected a line from the barrel of the blaster to the wall, serving as an artificial sight for his weapon. He switched off the safety, this turned the red line green. Then he switched the safety back to the off position. No rebels in sight.

Everything in preparation, he left, his visor protecting him from the harsh light of Tatooine's twin suns. His new squadmates were across from him, taking shade by the wall of the officer's barracks. The whole Imperial encampment was now a veritable hive of activity, and Hummel had to work through the crowds of troopers as he made his way to his squadmates. "Finally got yourself together huh?" Fortune asked, her helmet lying beside her.

"Where's Azarola?"

"Oh, Spanner's probably working on one of the speeders they brought in. It couldn't make it to the garage apparently." She took a swig from her canteen. "Come on, let's go." She said, getting to her feet.

"Alright. And Corporal?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave your helmet in the dirt again."

"Yes Sergeant." She huffed, putting it on.

They moved back to the ranch's front gate. Sure enough, there was a speeder there, broken down, flat in the dirt. An LAVr QH-7 Chariot.

"No matter how much money top brass throws at their speeders, sand still gets 'em, huh sergeant?" Fortune asked.

"What?"

Hummel had reason to be distracted, the Chariot was surrounded by Dark Troopers. Troopers in black armour, carrying prototype, cutting edge blasters. Hummel even thought he saw one or two holding prototype arc weapons, rifles that fired devastating barrages of electricity. He had seen schematics once for a similar looking weapon, but he had no idea that they were already in production. Most importantly though, they wore thruster packs, a privilege often only granted to special forces, and there must have been about five or six of these troopers in attendance, surrounding the vehicle.

"I heard they're cyborgs." Fortune whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"They're droids you idiots." Said a passing stormtrooper.

Fortune shook her head, disapprovingly.

Still, the presence of dark troopers and the broken down Chariot made sense. A Chariot was a heavily armoured three man speeder built to ferry around officers, rather than a frontline combat vehicle. They were essentially long triangular prisms, though the front rose in an arc rather than a straight line. For their size, they had quite a low profile, though they reached the height of a man. They were about twelve meters long, with reflective screens at the front, and a series of antenna at the rear of the speeder, topped with a small satellite dish.

Hummel scanned the crash site, looking for the officer who would have been riding such a vehicle, but there was no sign of him. Besides the downed speeder and cybernetic supersoldiers.

"Guys?"

Azarola stepped out of the speeder, holding another mess of wires in his hand. "I got it!" He cheered, running over to the two.

"You seem awfully cheery." Said Hummel.

Azarola set the chip into Fortune's hand, "you know what this is?" he asked, his finger darting between all the different parts of the thing.

"Well, it's another, data processor… Right?" She replied.

"Yeah, yeah that's just the thing. It's _another_ data processor."

"I don't get it." She confessed.

"How did you get that?" Hummel asked.

The excitement was wiped from his face as he turned to the sergeant. "They know I'm kind of a combat engineer, so they let me take a look at the Chariot, even though they already know what's wrong with it."

"And that is?"

"The sand of course, it clogs up the main drive intake and then, well the important thing is, is that they let me strip out the data processor, they said they're replacing all of them for some new model."

"So?" Hummel asked.

"Well if you know anything about our current system architecture, then you'd know it's all pretty recent, so why change? And I haven't seen any other notices for stuff like that for other garrisons."

"Do you have clearance for that kind of information?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Where's your helmet soldier?"

"I don't, in the barracks."

"This is going too far, get your helmet, and stand outside those damn barracks until I give you an order not to do so, am I understood?" Hummel said. The stress or desert heat was beginning to get to him, he could feel sweat forming under his helmet, the cooling system in his suit already whirring fervently.

"Sergeant." Azarola said stiffly, marching back to the general barracks.

Hummel's stomach growled, in all this chaos he mustn't have eaten for nearly a day now, but he still had duties to attend to. "Where's the lieutenant?" Hummel asked.

"I don't know. Probably the officer's barracks."

Hummel and Fortune wandered to the officer's barracks, one of the officers curtly, but formally told him that the lieutenant was at the command building.

"Am I always chasing after this boy?" Hummel muttered to himself as they walked to the command building. He could feel his face getting hotter and hotter underneath his helmet.

"Watch yourself sergeant." Fortune said sarcastically, "the empire's ears are everywhere." One of Imperial Intelligence's mottos.

He stopped in his tracks. "What did you say?"

"Just something I heard."

How could she possibly know? "Nevermind." Hummel grumbled.

It was now full of people, all the administrative work for the barracks went through here, requiring the presence of both commissioned and noncommissioned men. Hummel glanced back at the common barracks, he could see a stormtrooper in uniform. Standing in the brunt of the now midday dual sunlight of Tatooine. Good to see Azarola could be brought in line.

They approached the door, two soldiers stood guard outside. Hummel and Fortune stopped. Without a word, one of the guards drew a small scanner and held it to Hummel and Fortune's heads. This would verify a lot of electronic identification stored in their helmets.

"Move on through." One of the guard's said.

Inside it was just as busy, except everyone was bottled indoors. The air was hot and stuffy, sweat gathered on the faces of the troopers and administrative personnel as they constantly were sent back and forth with documents or information. The room was sparsely lit, the Imperials had torn out all the old lighting, but the new lights still hadn't all come in, or worked. The room was frankly a mess. The black metal tables and shelves recently added by the Empire, clashing with the traditional sandstone. Hummel grabbed the shoulder of a young officer, he looked as though he must have just come out of officer training.

"Where's Lieutenant Yamamoto?" Hummel asked.

"Er, well… He's probably in the officer meeting upstairs, come on I'll show you."

"How did you know that was going to work?" Fortune whispered.

"I didn't."

They headed up, the young officer getting them past another set of guards and a closed doors and into a meeting of Imperial officers.

"We need to move the troops through here." One officer said. A major. They were gathered around a table in the center of the room, six officers in total with a seventh at the head: An aging man, no helmet, buzzcut, and a uniform lined with decorations of all colours, lit by a dim blue light emanating from the table. This illuminated his most noticeable feature.

His skin was completely mangled and burned on the left side of his face. From his eye up, it was gone, replaced with cybernetics. High Colonel Travis. The crimson glow of his cybernetic eye following the new arrivals as they entered.

"No no major that simply wouldn't work, the pass here it's, well, _im_ passable." The voice of Yamamoto, correcting the major, a man well above his rank.

"And who, are these?" Travis said, measuring each syllable.

"Well, these, it's- the thing is." The young officer that brought them into this meeting was now sputtering under the pressure of talking to such a high ranking officer.

"Out."

The three turned to leave.

"If I may." Yamamoto began, "I would like my sergeant to remain here, our attempts to classify information are useless if my NCO is too uninformed to carry them out."

Travis sighed. "Very well, you two, leave." Fortune and the young lieutenant left, leaving Hummel, a mere sergeant, in a room with the commander of the entire legion occupying Tatooine. The 53rd Legion.

"Now, lieutenant, continue explaining to major Claudius how much of an error he has committed." Travis continued, practically growling now, as Hummel approached the table.

"What?" Major Claudius was dumbstruck. "Sir, you're not going to allow a mere lieutenant with no seniority-"

"I am! I will not allow your foolhardy pride to piss away the lives of my men. My men, this is my legion, I will not have my work torn down by an incompetent, arrogant child!" Travis' voice burst into the room, leaving only silence in its wake. One could only hear the muffled sounds of the men downstairs working and talking, unaware of the magnitude of blundering that had just been committed.

Claudius, leaned over the table, speaking in hushed tones. "My father has contacts with the moffs, if he hears you've left some pissant lieutenant walk over a man of my status-"

"He will."

"What?"

"Guards, I don't tolerate incompetents in my briefing room."

"High Colonel, you are making a big mistake." Claudius had backed away now, desperately trying to keep his composure. Two guards, more darktroopers, seized him by the arms. "I can make you rich you know!" They dragged him away, as he writhed in their grip, kicking and shouting, his well groomed side parting being thrown into a mess. "You'll pay for this Travis!" You'll pay!" He cried as he was dragged out, the doors shutting behind him, the darktroopers dragging him away.

"Lieutenant." Travis said, getting right back to business. "How would you propose moving the troops to Mos Eisley?"

"Well sir, I hadn't really thought of it, I had only seen an issue with the Major's plan."

Hummel looked over the blue holographic map. It was indeed quite a task, the troops were very far away, to the west, between their garrison at Trapani and Mos Eisley lay not only a sarlacc, but also Drepana canyon, known to be full of tusken raiders and perhaps rebels. Hummel saw quite clearly that there was a route going around the entire canyon, but that would have been a much longer trek. Hummel gathered that they must have been in a hurry. More scheming from Imperial Intelligence he wagered.

"Well, as we've established, air transport's out of the question." Yamamoto stated, Travis watching him closely, stone faced. "Actually…" He put a hand to his mouth in thought, "maybe it isn't."

"Explain."

"Well, we have the supply ships, they drop off roughly half of their cargo in Trapani, then the other half in Mos Eisley. We could take the troops in their half-filled cargo holds. It might take a few trips, but it wouldn't require us to reallocate any ships and it wouldn't take as long as going around Drepana."

Travis folded his arms. "You're aware those ships aren't rated to carry infantry?"

"Yes, but I've looked in the holds of them before, I could see it being done and there's plenty of raw materials in Trapani that they could use to rig up something as a harness. You could use the cargo hooks and some cable as a rig to hold chairs. The cargo ships themselves could bring something to help."

Travis considered this for a moment. "Fine, I'll get in touch with the engineers and see if we can get it done."

Yamamoto kept his head bowed, trying to hide a grin creeping up on him in front of his commanding officer.

"Now, to your orders." Travis continued, looking alternately at Yamamoto and Hummel. "You're to move from Mos Eisley to point alpha." Travis set his finger at a point just off the road leading north out of Mos Eisley. "Report in when you arrive. Then move to point beta." He slid his finger to an elevated point northwest of Mos Eisley, it was scattered with small rock formations. Hummel estimated the whole ride would take about half a day on speederbikes. "So long as your contacts have given us the correct information." Travis said this with an additional look at Yamamoto. "I expect you can move tomorrow morning?"

"Tonight." Yamamoto said.

Travis nodded. "So lieutenant, you've been saying we can move our troops here while we wait on your word." He pointed at a spot roughly halfway between Mos Eisley and point beta.

"Yes sir that's correct."

"Excuse me sirs," Hummel interrupted, "if I might suggest, you would be best having your troops a little more to the southeast, here." He indicated a point not far off, "moving the troops here would hide them behind a small ridge, concealing them from the suspected rebels from the north."

"Good catch sergeant." Travis said. "Meeting adjourned, unless anyone has something to say?"

* * *

Yamamoto and Hummel moved back to the common barracks, it was about midday by now. Two stormtroopers sat on the edge of the steps leading inside, hiding in the shade from the harsh twin suns. On seeing their superiors approach, they stood, anonymous in their armour.

"Well, we've got our assignment." Yamamoto said to them.

"Good to hear it sir." One of them spoke up, clearly Fortune's voice.

"I say we eat, and then get all of our equipment set up for tomorrow." Said Yamamoto.

"Ok sir," Hummel began, "if you don't mind, I'll be getting some things squared away while you all get something."

"I won't deny a sergeant willing to perform his duties." Yamamoto said. "See you in a half hour?"

"Yes sir."

Fortune, Yamamoto and Azarola left him and went behind the barracks, where the "kitchens" were. Storage units holding heaps of MRE's. Then, Yamamoto lead them to the sitting area by the officer's barracks, where they could sit in the shade, eat, and drink their water rations.

"The new sergeant's kind of a hard ass huh?" Fortune said as she bit into her MRE, a standard multinutrient block with artificial flavoring.

"A well meaning hard arse I think." Yamamoto said.

"Yeah, he seems like some kind of badass." Azarola said.

"Well, he has served gallantly, all over the galaxy." Yamamoto glanced his way. "I didn't handpick him for no reason. He'll save your life when it counts, a real benefit in the field I'd say."

"We were, handpicked?" Fortune nearly choked out the words, forcing down her nutrient block.

Yamamoto grinned, "yes, you were. It only takes a fool to recognize there's something a bit more going on with this mission than usual, and since none of you are fools… What you should take away is that you're more than qualified to do the job."

"What's the issue with the data systems?" Azarola asked.

"We're changing all the computer systems to avoid any sort of data leaks or hacking as I understand it. No risks, you understand. In fact your assignment couldn't be less risky."

He went on to explain the details of their mission. Explaining that they would move out riding dewbacks, large lizards native to Tatooine, under civilian disguise by night, and move to point alpha, then beta.

"Sir, there's just one problem." Fortune interrupted.

"What would that be Richards?"

"Well, dewbacks won't ride during the night."

"Sorry?"

"Well, they sleep at night, they can't handle the cold, y'know? They've evolved to huddle together and sleep at night, conserve their strength."

"Hmm, well that puts a damper on things."

"Yeah it does." She was nearly unintelligible, trying to eat and talk at the same time.

"Well, we'll just have to move out a bit earlier then."

Azarola sighed and shifted away from the others.

"So what is this, super secret mission then?" Fortune asked, "we get to this point, then what?"

"Well then," Yamamoto quieted now, "I'll do my job."

"Which is?"

"I meet some contacts, I confirm the rebels' exact location, and then all the troops we've been assembling take them out. We have orbital, numerical, and technological superiority, the only thing they have going for them is that they're playing defense. Not that it'll matter. We won't even be taking part in the action, once I do my work, we all get sent back to Mos Eisley on reserve while receiving active duty pay. Let the grunts do the fighting."

"Damn, that's easy."

"Yeah, what's the catch?" Azarola was apparently now back in the conversation.

"No catch."

"Sure there is, this is all a little too simple." Azarola persisted.

"What? You don't think a massive galactic empire would be inefficient with its resources, do you?" Yamamoto asked sarcastically.

"Probably," Azarola quipped, "but I got one more question LT."

"Hmm?"

"We're pretending to be civilians as we travel right?"

"Yes."

"So… Who are we?"

Yamamoto's grin slipped back on, coming up with secret identities was his forte, naturally. "Well, the sergeant's the oldest here, you're both young enough, you could be his two children."

"Well I practically babysit him anyway." Fortune said with a glance at Azarola.

"Whatever."

"But you're kind of older lieutenant, no offense, would that really work for you?" Fortune asked.

"Well, an in-law, perhaps," he looked deep into Fortune's eyes, "married to you?"

She was appalled. "What? Gross, no, you're like, nearly forty!"

Yamamoto leaned back, "I'm thirty two, and it was a joke!"

"Fine, fine."

"I'll be a, cousin perhaps, on his mother's side." Yamamoto concluded.

"So, civvie gear?" Azarola asked, "no armour? This idea sucks."

* * *

The last blaster shot scorched the target directly in the chest, right in the circle. Azarola slowly lowered his rifle, examining his handiwork. A thin wisp of smoke flowing from the barrel of his blaster.

"Good." Hummel said, hovering over him. "About 20 points under the lieutenant though, we'll squeeze in another hour of drill time for you before we head out."

Azarola cursed under his breath.

"Don't worry, we'll get your equipment squared away while you practice."

"If you're done torturing the poor fellow, sergeant, let's head out to the armoury." Yamamoto said.

The three of them moved out, and into, the armoury. Here, they spoke over the counter with the quartermaster, he looked to be in his forties, and had the lines to show it. The stark light on the ceiling was soaked up in the black metal room. Behind the counter, there were racks of blasters large and small, launchers, armour, anything a trooper could dream of.

"Have you broken something again?" The quartermaster growled, "I shan't be handin' out replacements if you keep, no, nevermind, you're not them. What is it?"

Hummel stepped up, "need some gear, a-"

"I'll need to see a requisition card."

Yamamoto slid a small plastic chip across the counter, the quartermaster snatched it and ran it through a small scanner, scrutinizing a readout on his side of the counter. He glanced skeptically at the trio.

"All yours sergeant." Yamamoto said with a grin, and backed away from the counter.

"Alright," Hummel began, "I'll need a DX-19 set, about twelve thermal detonators…"

* * *

It was evening now, the sky was a dizzying mix of magenta, deep blue and dull orange. They were on the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the sandy walls behind them. A lone speeder drove past the squad and into the port.

"You can see them." Yamamoto said to himself.

Hummel turned, "what?"

Yamamoto pointed up, "the fleet."

Among the stars, one could see the outlines of several star destroyers. Could one be the Reliant? Or had it's orbit taken it to the other side of the planet? Hummel looked the team over, they had been outfitted in sets of tan tunics, tan trousers, and black boots. They had bandanas around their necks, that also had filters to breathe through in sandstorms. They had bandoliers to store their extra blaster cartridges. Yamamoto had to ditch his officer's armour, his tunic was a red adobe colour to stand out. Hummel had painted yellow stripes on a leather pauldron, worn on his right shoulder for the same reason. Then they had their packs, holding food and water rations along with some other tools. It was enough food and water for a week. Lastly, they all had headsets. They were thin, and seemed civilian in design, and would only have been noticed as Imperial manufacture under close scrutiny.

"Lieutenant?" Hummel asked, "we should get a move on, right sir."

"Right you are sergeant."

They lowered their googles, the targeting and navigation displays lighting up. They ran through their functions as a test, numbers, letters and dizzying lines running along the lenses before the displays reset.

"Check in." Yamamoto said into a handheld communicator. His voice coming through on their earpieces.

"Green."

"Green."

"Green."

Their goggles were functionally identical to a stormtrooper helmet's visor, although, to keep their civilian disguise, they had to avoid tracking through the Imperial computer network. As a result, their goggles wouldn't receive any new information from the command network. If battlefield conditions were to suddenly change, they would have to adapt using the physical maps tucked into their tunics.

Hummel mounted his dewback in one smooth motion, grabbing the reigns. Dewbacks being bulky four legged lizards, slightly taller than a man. Yamamoto and Fortune followed, settling in their saddles. Azarola struggled to get himself up on the creature, which shifted and groaned in response to the harassment.

"Come on kid!" Hummel barked, turning his dewback around.

"Maybe if you didn't load me with all the extra ammo, it'd be easier sarge." He said between grunts.

"Just do it, son." Hummel looked back at Yamamoto, "hey lieutenant, since we're not acting military anymore, does that mean I can treat my son with informal condescension?"

"I hate this disguise idea" Azarola said, between strained efforts to climb his dewback. They watched him struggle for about a minute, and then he was on, which seemed to anger his dewback even more.

Hummel pulled a metal pole from his dewback's riding harness. "Get a grip kid."

The dewback shook under Azarola, who leaned over the thing for stability, clumsily trying to grip the saddle. "It's a wild animal! Er, dad?"

Hummel pulled his dewback to face Azarola and spurred the thing forward, holding the metal pole aloft. With the press of a button, the tip of the pole sparked with electricity and he brought it down onto the head of Azarola's dewback.

With a loud crack, the dewback fell into line, Azarola took a sigh and sat at ease. Hummel pulled up alongside and gave Azarola the pole from his respective harness. "With this," Hummel said, "it isn't."

"Hummel." Yamamoto cut into their reverie.

"What?"

"Let's get a move on shall we?"

"This is why I don't invite you to family dinners." Hummel replied, a wry grin twisting his lips.


	4. Road to a Hard Place

**Previously: The team has received orders: Move to point beta, where Yamamoto will verify the location of the rebel forces, by speaking to his rebel contacts out in the desert. First however, they have to cross the desert.**

"This sucks." Azarola's voice came through, barely, on their earpieces, the howling sandstorm nearly swallowing his words whole.

"Is that your professional opinion?" Hummel quipped.

They could barely see a foot in front of them, and right now, the desert's thermal signature was too flat for their goggle's thermal vision to help. They could only follow Hummel as he looked underfoot, to make sure they were still on the dirt road.

"Stop, stop." Fortune said, she had most likely lost sight of the dewback in front of her.

Hummel brought his dewback to a stop,and checked behind him. He could see the head of Yamamoto's dewback, poking out of the sand wall. "Ok, we all stopped?"

"Yep." The responses came down the line.

"Ok," Hummel continued, "Helen, move forward ten paces."

He waited, since the sand blocked his sight, he could only use his wandering thoughts to fill the time. The sand was too thick, and blocked their transponders, meaning that their HUD's were failing to show where the other squad members were, they had to stay close and maintain visual contact.

"I see him." Fortune said.

"Good," Hummel replied, "You, can see her?"

"Yep." Yamamoto responded.

"Azarola," Hummel continued, "you good?"

"Yep, how much longer we goin'?"

"That's a good question," Yamamoto said, "this sand's getting dangerous."

Hummel let the reins go slack. "Well let's see, Azarola, what's the distance to that beacon?"

"I don't know, you'll have to let me dig through this pack that you crammed full of shit."

Despite the sand, Hummel's human curiosity got the better of him, he tried in vain to peer through the sand.

"Got it," Azarola continued, "we're, uh, 2.5 out."

"HUD," Hummel barked, "bring up map grid, TA-PRT, 534781." His goggles brought up the map, in the corner of his vision. The grid was highlighted. "Yep," Hummel continued, if we set the beacon back at around 540560, then we just need to go for another 500 meters then we camp, sound good?"

"Yep," Azarola chipped in.

"Wasn't asking you."

"That sounds satisfactory." Said Yamamoto.

"Good, then let's go."

They continued, then, to follow the road.

"Can't we just camp here?" Azarola asked, "we could have the dewbacks around in a circle to shelter us."

Hummel peered through the sand, trying to keep sight of the dirt road. "And camp in the middle of the road? Our mounts would be completely exposed to the elements, we'd have no natural cover when the storm clears an-"

"Alright, alright, I get it."

"Unless you need something, keep the channel clear, I'm tryin' to focus."

After about a half hour, the road banked to the right, that was their cue. Hummel pulled out the compass from his tunic, which showed they were still travelling at a Northerly heading. Their prospective campsite was near exactly Northwest from this turn in the road. "Ok everyone, we're turning here, just follow the one in front of you. We're leaving the road, so yell the second you lose track. If anyone gets lost, just stop where you are, you can use a flare when the storm clears."

He yanked the reins, the dewback ponderously turned with them, and they slowly changed course. The evening had turned to night, the dewbacks would want sleep soon, and the dust storm had tired them even more. Still, they had little distance left to travel, the site was only a couple hundred meters off the road.

"Y'know," Fortune began, "freak sandstorm and you still say I'm crazy."

"This again?" Azarola replied, as the ground beneath them began to form a slope, "you always have a bad feeling about something."

"Yeah? And I usually have to bail your ass out of whatever shit you've gotten yourself-"

Hummel spurred his dewback on "what did I just say about keeping the channel clear?"

"Sorry." Fortune said.

Not too long afterwards, the sand began to thin, as the slope levelled out. A tall silhouette could be made out, a tall thin rock formation, and a shorter, much wider one to the left, that was still about two men high.

Hummel stepped off his dewback, "here we are."

The rock formations would keep them sheltered from the sand, and from prying eyes to the North and East. Unfortunately, someone was already here. Still, Yamamoto was just coming up behind him, they wouldn't have any difficulty muscling this stranger off site. The stranger stood, seeing the four ride through the sandwall toward him.

Hummel unslung his blaster and approached.

"Hey there!" The stranger yelled over the storm, "it's alright! I'm no raider."

Someone seized Hummel's shoulder. "Relax Sergeant." Yamamoto said.

Behind him, Fortune was helping Azarola dismount, catching him as he fell, his foot caught in a stirrup.

"Alright, hey!" Hummel shouted, "you two quit messing around!" He shouted at the them. He fumbled for the reigns and lead his mount toward the stranger.

The stranger beckoned, "take a seat!" Indicating the dull campfire next to him. Yamamoto left them to make introductions with the stranger, while the three lead the dewbacks past him, to shelter them by the rock shelf. They took the filters out of their mouths, settling the bandanas back on their necks.

"So this is the place?" Fortune asked, even when they were close, she still had to raise her voice over the wind.

"Yep." Hummel grunted, taking a sleeping bag and one of the saddlebacks from his dewback.

"Quite a place." Azarola grumbled.

They sat by Yamamoto and the stranger, forming a half circle around the scattered campfire, their backs to the gust. Yamamoto introduced them, "this is my cousin, Hummel, and Helen, and, Azarola."

"S' good to meet ya,'" the stranger said, "I'm David."

"Yep." Hummel said.

"You offworld?"

"Yep."

"Yes, they're visiting for a while before they buy passage to the core worlds." Yamamoto said.

"Oh yeah?" David asked, "you're headin' away from the spaceport."

"I know, we have some relations up North." Yamamoto clarified.

"Really? There's not many people up there, maybe I know 'em."

"Ah, you probably don't, news travels slow out there, you know that. There was just a big transfer of land apparently, I don't know if maybe you've heard of it?"

"No. No I'm afraid not."

After everyone exchanged pleasantries, they mostly spent the next two hours in sullen silence, no one seeing the point to yell over the storm. Eventually though, it dissipated, leaving both them and the dewbacks intact.

Yamamoto stirred first. "Best get some rest then."

Hummel stood, "I'll take first watch."

"Me too," Helen said, getting to their feet.

"Well I appreciate that." David said.

"As do I," Yamamoto said, "make sure that message is sent."

"You sure you don't want me to?" Azarola asked Fortune.

"I'm fine."

The night had become serene, just as quickly as it had grown chaotic. After they all worked to get the fire going again, everyone settled into their sleeping bags, while Fortune and Hummel took positions on opposite sides of the camp. Hummel sat at the top of the rock shelf. The road was less clear now, the desert sand had spilled over the path. The walls of Mos Eisley looked stained with fresh red dirt, but ultimately, the sandstorm hadn't done any real damage. Watch was easy enough, the three moons were set in a clear night sky, bathing the desert in a cool blue light, and hopefully, it would illuminate any potential threats.

Hummel glanced back at the camp, to make sure that the stranger was asleep.

"Red to Watchtower, Red to Watchtower, come in, over." He said in a near whisper.

"Watchtower, receiving over."

"Red has arrived at point alpha, acknowledge, over."

"Watchtower copies all, when can you expect to arrive at point beta?"

"Uh, around midday."

"Copy, anything else to report?"

"Negative, Red out."

So Hummel spent his time looking over the desert. Since the sand settled, nothing moved, at least, nothing he could see. There were only echoes on the wind.

"Hey," Fortune whispered, taking a seat next to him.

"Is it clear back there?"

"Yeah, coming over to make sure you didn't fall asleep."

"I'm fine." He set the zoom on his goggles, trying to see as far into the desert as he could. Unfortunately, given the long sight lines in the desert, everyone, and everything, had learned to hide well.

"Great, didn't expect to bump into that other guy." Fortune said.

"Yeah, we need to get rid of him."

"What? Why?"

"He's compromising the mission."

She scoffed, "he's not onto us, w-" a distant echo cut her off, stretched out like a howl, but far too guttural. It could be anything, the distant twisting the sound into strange, eldritch shapes. "Well, we're probably safer with another gun at the camp."

"Mhmm."

"Not to mention he's safer with us than out in the desert."

Hummel shifted, looking her in the eye, "and why is his safety our problem?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does he help us do our job?"

"He could be a good guide, or-"

"I have a map."

Fortune could only watch him for a moment as he watched the desert, completely nonchalant. She stood, and he still showed no reaction. "You know, you're kind of an asshole." She said, and turned to leave.

"Richards."

She stopped, sitting on the edge of the shelf, ready to climb down.

"We come first," Hummel continued, "for their sake, if that's how you want to spin it."

She made a move to drop down, but only ended up sitting ponderously over the edge.

"You shouldn't stick your neck out for these people," Hummel continued as he kept scanning the desert, "first off, especially out here, anyone could be a rebel, and second, if we're all dead, who's there for them then?" He turned from the cliff edge, "do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Sure. You got burned, and now we all have to be cowards too." She said, and dropped from the edge, moving back to the other side of the camp. "Watch your own back then."

Hummel got back to the watch. The war would prove her wrong, he thought. The war would prove all of them wrong.


	5. Soft Contact

**Previously: The squad has made the first step in their journey, and met a stranger along the way, which has caused arguments within the group. Now the group must reach point beta under the harsh twin suns of Tatooine.**

The late morning suns beat down on them, thankfully, point beta wasn't too far off. There it was in the distance, about a two hour ride away. The top of a hill, a skyscraper skyline of tall rock formations that stretched out to the West. It would serve as an excellent lookout in all other directions, giving the spotters both cover and a vantage point. To the South was Mos Eisley, East were some scattered rocks, red spots jutting out of the sand, and to the North, a squat mountain. Tusken Point.

This was their best bet at the location for the rebel forces, as the site was a common hiding place for smugglers and other criminals that rebel scum commonly associated with. It was just far enough away from Mos Eisley for the law to not bother with anyone there, and just close enough that it was still easy enough to reach the spaceport. Supposedly the mountain was lined with a deep cave network, you could hide anything there, or anyone. Not to mention that the mountain was a great firing position, it was all barren land up to the steep slopes. Taking such a position... well, Hummel was just glad that wasn't his job.

Still, they needed to make sure, too many resources had been poured into the operation to take chances. Not to mention that Yamamoto's rebel contacts could give estimates on enemy munitions and troop strength. Still, a squad could do a hell of a lot of damage up there, and a batallion could be hidden in those caves.

"Sir!" Azarola, calling from the rear. Hummel looked back, there was something in the desert behind them, following them.

"Oh, shit."

David catching up, his silhouette, near swallowed by a mirage, waving at them.

"Shouldn't we slow down?" Fortune asked Yamamoto, with a cold look at Hummel.

"I don't think so," Hummel replied, matching her gaze. "Hell," Hummel adressed Yamamoto, "we could probably speed this up a bit, I've been saying all morning."

"You have?"

Yamamoto, catching their looks, addressed them both. "How about this? I don't give a damn, frankly, if some waster catches up with us or not. We ride at the same pace. Unless you'd rather not reach our destination in time?" He finished, looking at Hummel.

"Well exactly sir," Hummel continued to turn back to face his lieutenant, straining his tired back, sweat pouring from his forehead. "We need to move faster to not be late."

Yamamoto sighed, and wiped his upper lip. "Sergeant, you want our mounts to be collapse on us due to, whatever's gotten into you? We'd definitely be late if that happened."

Hummel took a tube from his pack and drank from it, warm water. A lot of the weight in their packs was just water, and he could feel his pack was already half-empty. Their dewbacks carried more water, but not much. They were only meant to be out for two or three days after all, before resupplying with the attack column and moving back to Mos Eisley.

"Well whatever guys," Azarola spoke up from the rear, "looks like he's here anyway."

Hummel, again, turned back, he could feel the sweat and wet clothing sliding against his skin, and clinging to him as he moved. Still, there he was, David, gaining all the time. His shouting causing small, indecipherable tremors in the wind.

"Hey, you wanna give me some water?" Azarola asked, seeing the tube still in Hummel's mouth.

"Didn't you fill up your pack at camp?" He took the tube out, a glistening drop still hanging off the end, and dripping down onto his Tunic. Wasted.

"Yeah, I did, but then I drank it."

"Well, you still have water in your waterskin right?"

"Yeah, but we'd have to stop to refill my pack with it."

Hummel chuckled, "that we would," and turned to Yamamoto, "are we stopping Lieutenant?"

"Certainly not."

Azarola let out a long groan, and threw his head back, letting his face be baked under the suns.

"Y'know," Fortune began, "those rock formations look kind of like the ones I've seen on podracing here."

"There's no way they could fit pods through most of that," Hummel replied, "I'm fairly certain you couldn't even call it a race."

"Yeah, I know," Fortune snapped, "maybe it was in the background or, I don't know," she mused, "it just looks familiar is all."

"Well you can see it every day from the spaceport." Hummel grumbled.

"Stop! Hey, hold up!" David nagged beyond the rear of the formation. "It was awful rude of you to just leave me back there!"

"Oh he could at least be quiet while he crept up on us." Hummel growled.

"Maybe he has some water." Azarola said, rather pitifully, now leaned, or rather, slumped over his mount.

Yamamoto threw his arms up, " let's just stop for a moment. The mounts could use a rest."

Hummel made a sort of grunting noise as he dropped down from his dewback, his leg buckled just slightly, but he stood firm on his feet, his head buzzing. The smell of sweat and sand filled his nostrils. Fortune got off her mount, and promptly sat down, sheltering in the dewback's shadow. Azarola simply stayed slumped where he was, listlessly looking around, while Yamamoto dismounted and approached the sergeant.

"We're all a little worn out, eh, Hummel?" He said between breaths.

"No way we'd, get through this, easy, it's a big stretch."

"Mhmm." Yamamoto drank from his pack.

Hummel felt for the blaster pistol at his side.

Finally Azarola dismounted, and set to refilling his pack with water, the "waterskin" being a barrel that he pulled from the dewback and began drinking from, water spilling into the sand.

Fortune waved, with as big a smile as she could conjure at the moment, as their visitor approached. "Nice of you to stop." David said, panting like they were, but still surprisingly spry given that he had caught up to them on foot.

"You're no worse for wear." Hummel said.

"I suppose, still, could have at least told me you were leavin', no good to leave a fellow traveller suspect to raiders or wilderness the way you did."

Hummel had never actually gotten a good look at David before, he had seen him either in a sandstorm, or at night . He wore clothes much like their own, but with a thick cloak and a big blaster rifle slung over his shoulder. A black bandolier ran across his tunic, packing plenty of extra blaster cartridges. He must have been about middle-aged, bearded, with his greasy hair slicked back, strands breaking from the rest and waving wistfully with the wind.

"Well," Hummel stepped up to David, matching his gaze, "we're on a tight schedule, hunting for prey that only comes out in the early morning. No sense in waking you up just because we had work to do."

Yamamoto moved to step between them, as David responded, "hunting? I thought you were heading North to meet relatives?"

"What he means to say," Yamamoto began, putting his hands up, and shooting a quick glare at Hummel, "is that he has always been very interested in hunting, and wished for me to show what was good quarry in the desert. As such, we had agreed, of course, to leave camp in the very early morning to see if we could get a look at any. And, of course, we apologize for leaving you in the meantime sir, I'll concede that was, improper of us."

David scrunched up his bushy brows, his beady eyes flitting from one to the other for several, long, sun baked seconds. He reached for his belt and pulled out a flask. "Water anyone?"

"Speaking of," Yamamoto muttered, looking at Azarola.

Azarola was sat under his dewback, water soaked, sat in a slurry of sand. "Oh, shit." Hummel grumbled, and went to deal with him.

"If you'll excuse me David, I have to tend to some of my things for a moment." Yamamoto returned to his mount and began to examine the saddlebags. David followed.

"You don't sound like you're from here."

"Observant of you." Yamamoto grunted, trying to yank a particular bag. "I'm not in fact," he said, kneeled on the floor, unzipping the bag. "I settled here as part of Crimson Caravan business, I worked the core first but then I ended up here and just ended up staying. Right business networks you see? And then I sort of 'married in,' so to speak and here we are. So you see," he looked up from his bag, "I have two families, my offworld family and my onworld family, these you see," he waved his arm at the others, "are the offworlders, naturally."

"Ah, I get it. Yeah, the spaceport being here you get a lot of immigrant or mixed families and that."

They stood in silence for a few seconds, until Fortune interjected. "Excuse me, sir?" She asked, cautiously stepping forward.

Yamamoto tried to do the closest equivalent of shooing her away with his eyes, what was she thinking, calling him sir? Had she forgotten their cover?

"You wouldn't happen to be that big game hunter would you?" No, she was addressing David instead.

"The one and only."

Hummel, picking Azarola off his feet, caught wind of their conversation. "Arrogant." He mumbled.

"Have you offered me water yet?" Azarola asked, "he has."

"So are you an offworlder too?" She asked.

"Nope. Travelled around a lot of course, but I am from here originally."

"There's nothing out here to hunt though is there? I mean, not compared to those acklay on Vendaxa."

"Did you watch my show?" David asked.

"Yeah, my little brother was a big fan, and, well, I kind of liked it too."

"Well I appreciate that miss, but you should know we play all that up a bit for the show."

"Oh, yeah, of course but still, I mean, you did do some of that stuff, right?"

"Yeah, all of it, it's the way it was presented more than anything, more bendin' than breakin' the truth."

"Yeah, sure, right."

"Anyway, I don't suppose y'all are waitin' here on my behalf?"

"That's what I wanted to ask!" Yamamoto stumbled to his feet. "How are you so, unspoiled after all that walking in yonder desert?"

"Cybernetics."

* * *

In a few minutes they were off again, the rocky towers looming ever larger as they approached, and Hummel listening to Fortune and David's inane chatter all the while.

"But I heard that no man had survived ranarum venom?" Fortune asked, incredulous.

"That's true, and the show forgets to mention that only four people have both been to [PLANET NAME HERE] and been bitten by a ranarii, so it's hardly a proper sample size.." David replied.

"But it is corrosive right? Burns you internally?"

"That is true, so I have a lot of internal cybernetics. That and I got my leg bitten back on Cholganna, so I got that augmented, then I had auged the other leg for balance, then both for sport."

"Huh, some perks to it I guess."

"Yup."

The rocks ahead grew closer, and larger still. In ancient times, before the hyperdrive such monoliths must have seemed as mysterious as the depths of space were now. Though the heat and tusken raiders still here today kept these rocks foreign, and aggressive.

"So, what are you hunting here?" Fortune asked, resuming her conversation with David.

"Sanguine Wyverns."

Fortune considered this for a moment, "but I thought those weren't native to Tatooine?"

"They're not, but I heard some were seen here, probably brought in on some Hutt's freighter. No one'll mind if I knock a few invadin' species down a peg."

"Right." She said, with a slightly forced chuckle.

"What is a sanguine wyvern?" Yamamoto asked, "If you don't mind."

"Don't mind at all, it's a, pterosaur, sort of a dull red colour, size of a one-man speeder I reckon."

"Well the more you know." Yamamoto mumbled.

They neared the base of the slope that lead up to the point, thankfully, they were close enough to the rocks to be caught in their shadow, but, it would be a steep walk. It would definitely be hard on the animals, and would take at least a half hour. The decision was made to dismount and approach on foot, to avoid exhausting the dewbacks. They took a ten minute rest, drank and refilled both their packs and canteens, before they pressed on.

It was long, and arduous, which made the walk feel much longer than it was. No one spoke between panted breaths, straining to push on, David picking anyone up as they stumbled and keeping them motivated with some attempts at humour, which certainly frustrated Hummel enough to make the climb.

As soon as he had passed through his third murderous thought towards the man, they were through, now among the towering desert stone.

"Wow," Azarola huffed, "and I thought, they looked tall, on the outside."

"Well we're not," Hummel erupted into a coughing fit, "there yet kid."

"Don't remind me."

They made their way, Yamamoto in the lead, through the winding narrow paths, trying to keep them on a Northeastern bearing. They were running on time, Hummel had come far enough, now the lieutenant had to keep up his side of the bargain, then they could go home, or at least, back to Mos Eisley.

The maze-like rock halls opened up onto a hill, small stones rose from the ground, but otherwise it was open, giving them sight of the horizon spanning desert plains, and Tusken point in the distance.

"Well, 's nice view," David said, "but I don't see where it's takin' ya'."

"I doubt we're going the same direction." Hummel said, as he sat, resting his back on a rock. "Doesn't have any bearing on you, we're going where we need to go."

"Heat's makin' ya ornery, was just a statement friend."

Hummel looked in disbelief at Yamamoto, who seemed to catch on.

"We need to talk." Hummel said to him, and looked dead on at their guest, "privately. Our camp. Our rules."

David gently raised his hands, and sauntered away, Fortune followed him, holding his arm and shooting a dirty look at Hummel.

"Kid seems taken with that big-game hunter." Hummel growled as he watched them leave.

Yamamoto sat at a rock across from him, "he's a childhood hero of sorts, it's understandable."

Hummel's tried to drink from the tube on his pack, but it had run dry. He drank deep from his canteen, the water spilling over his chin. "I don't-"

"Trust him? That's obvious."

"Why don't you say it a little louder?" Azarola called as he was tending to one of the dewbacks. "I don't think he can hear you yet."

"Quiet son," Hummel said, smug, "the adults are talking. Anyway, lieutenant, while big-game hunter's away, who should send the message, you or me?"

"Well the honour's all yours sergeant, unless you can't be bothered."

"Well," Hummel grunted as he tried to adjust himself, "I can't quite feel my legs at this point, but I'll do it."

"Very well sergeant," Yamamoto glanced back at the rock formations David had wandered into, "get to it, the private and I will set up camp."

"Really?" Azarola said, exasperated, "shouldn't I be doing, um, spotter duties?"

Hummel struggled to his feet, and stumbled to the overlook while Azarola resigned himself to the process of unpacking the saddlebags.

"Red to Watchtower, Arrived at Point Beta, contact with insurgent informants pending."

"Watchtower acknowledging, be advised-"

* * *

"That was weird with commander Travis though." Azarola said in a hush, his face lit pale blue with the moonlight.

"It is, I don't like it." Hummel grumbled.

"I mean, it must have been a bigger dust-up than they're letting on if they mentioned it while we're out in the field though."

"Yeah, not good if we're about to stage a major attack. Still, because of that attack, I'm sure his command'll stay uninterrupted, at least, 'till after we're done here."

"Yeah."

"Y'know, I saw quite a spat between the commander and some major the other day, I wonder if…"

"If?" Hummel said nothing, seemingly buried in his own thoughts. Azarola took a long look at Tusken Point, it's dark blue outline in the horizon. He sighed. "We know they're there, why don't we just hit the thing already?"

"Well we're really checking for their troop strengths and potential fallback or reserve positions," Hummel said, monotone, "and orbital bombardments are out of the question since we need to verify that we've got our targets."

"The rebels? Yeah, blow the fuck out of their base, which is obviously, right there," Azarola violently pointed at the mountain to emphasize his point, "and call it a day."

"We need to get certain things done here that go beyond your pay grade, and mine, as I understand."

Azarola leaned in, his voice falling to a whisper, "the lieutenant's holding out on us?"

"He's doing his job. You should be thankful, this work keeps us out of the main assault."

Azarola held a steady glare at the distant mountain, but his breath was growing rapid and his hand was trembling.

"You're just experiencing pre-battle nerves, happened to all of us," Hummel reassured him, "still happens." He gave Azarola a pat on the back and began walking ahead. "No use worrying about it, let's just head back to camp."

They left the winding rock formation, and went back to the outlook, lit with the inviting orange glow of a campfire. David, Fortune, and Yamamoto laid out around it clockwise, the dewbacks tied around a rock behind them.

"Y'know," Azarola groaned, "you're smelling pretty ripe there sarge."

"We've been sweating through the desert for two days now with no showers, you should smell yourself."

"Eh, at this point I can't tell if the smell is us or the animals."

"All clear!" Hummel shouted to the camp as they went down the slope. "Nothing in sight."

"Even with big game hunter here?" Yamamoto said with a grin and a nod toward David. "Was hoping you'd see something before we got to my uncle's place. Not really my uncle," Yamamoto clarified to David, "he's the sort of uncle that isn't really your uncle, you understand, a nice fellow though," he mused.

Hummel took a seat beside Yamamoto, and Azarola sat beside David.

Fortune was still glaring at Hummel when he sat down, the chatter between her and David ground to a halt. Hummel sighed, "don't be like that, here." He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small bag. He tossed a small purple berry from the bag across the campfire, she nimbly caught the berry in her hand and popped it into her mouth, still grumpy. "I know the nutrient blocks aren't much for taste." He passed the bag to Azarola.

"Well well well," Azarola grinned, "old straight lace has some taste for the delicate things in life." They passed the berries around, each taking a handful as they passed it around, Hummel abstained. Their chatter began to come easy, and the camp was warm with conversation. Even their exhaustion began to fade as they got caught up in talk of sports, friends, food, and as Azarola said, "places other than this wasteland."

David, predictably, told hunting stories. Fortune impressed the group with some card tricks. Yamamoto regaled them with some tales from his drunken university days, leaving out the mention that it was an Imperial military academy. Azarola talked about some of the more entertaining calls he had taken when working in tech support. Even Hummel opened up, talking about the days he used to captain a grav-ball team, which the group reacted to with some disbelief

Still, the day's journey was arduous, even for David, and they soon quieted down, sleep overtaking their thoughts more than any need to continue the conversation.

Yamamoto stood, "well," he spoke in a raised voice, to wake everyone up again, "we're all getting tired eh? Best get set up for the night before we all pass out eh?"

The idle chatter continued, as everyone readied their camping gear, laying out their sleeping bags, double checking that the dewbacks were tied up and securing all of their equipment.

"Well." Yamamoto said as they finished getting ready, "since you two took first watch last night," he looked at Hummel and Fortune respectively, "me and him'll take first watch."

"Lookin' forward to it." Azarola said sarcastically.

Despite Hummel's initial protest, he collapsed into a deep sleep right after he settled into his sleeping bag.

Only to be woken up.

Yamamoto was hovering over him, he put a finger to his lips, with a nod at the still sleeping David, Fortune wasn't in her sleeping bag. Yamamoto helped Hummel to his feet and they walked to where they had tied up the dewbacks where Fortune and Azarola were already waiting.

With them assembled, he gathered them into a huddle, "I have the greenlight," he whispered, "I'm heading out to meet my contacts tonight. At best, I'll be back by morning, but I might be gone for a full day, maybe two. Hold the camp, and naturally, report in if I go missing for three days." He said that last bit with a slightly forced smile. "As for David, tell him I went off to do some pathfinding, I'm sure he'll move on before my absence gets suspicious."

"What if you're compromised?" Hummel asked.

Fortune and Azarola looked at him, slightly surprised, it was hardly a pleasant question to ask, and put quite bluntly.

"Don't look for me. Hold the camp, report my absence." The group took the news silently. "Dismissed."

They hesitantly made their way back to the campfire.

"Stay, sergeant." Yamamoto said.

Hummel tensed and turned back, ready to hear more of the task ahead.

"I'll send you reports through the night. Stay in contact. And deal with David, if necessary. Most of all, keep them together."

"That's what I do, sir."

Then, before his eyes, Yamamoto's face changed. Shifted, warped into something else. Someone else. "Pleased to meet you Hummel." Yamamoto offered a hand, Hummel took it. "Johnson, rebel, pleased to meet you."

Yamamoto shook Hummel's hand, as Hummel watched, his jaw slack. "That's something I'm not gonna get used to."

"I have a feeling you won't have to, sergeant."


	6. Bait

**Previously: Yamamoto has left the group to meet his rebel contacts. Hopefully, he can learn how strong the rebel positions at Tusken Point are. In the meantime, tensions at camp grow, as David divides the camp.**

The suns rose the next morning with a man absent. Azarola was already up, pacing by the dewbacks. Fortune was lying awake, with her eyes shut. Hummel finally stirred and got up, quietly to avoid waking David. He packed Yamamoto's sleeping bag back onto his dewback, and rolled up his own bag. Fortune stirred, and slowly got out of her bag, squinting as the morning suns bore down on her.

The group stayed in the shade, and resigned themselves back to their nutrient blocks. They stayed in solemn silence while David slept, the only noise was the quiet crunching as they ate, and gentle wind. The air was gradually heating up, though in the shade, it was tolerable, the breeze was still somewhat cooling, though that would certainly change. But while the wind didn't carry too much heat, it did carry a trembling echo through the air.

"What's that?" Azarola mumbled.

It was the column, the assembled army, marching through the desert. They left the shade and moved to the edge of the outlook, to watch their brothers and sisters walk the warpath miles away. The whole force must have been about the size of a whole regiment, either they had, in fact, sent in one whole regiment, or they had cobbled it together from several battalions, either way the column stretched for miles. High Colonel Travis was known for keeping his troops disciplined, whether or not this was true, it seemed to be reflected by the sunlight shining off their equipment, forcing the squad to squint as they watched the tight formations march. Columns of infantry separated by lines of armour, both walkers and hovercraft. Most notably, towering above the rest of the marching army: All Terrain Armoured Transports, AT-AT's.

"Where did they come from?" Fortune gasped.

"Must have dropped 'em off last night, while we were away." Azarola mumbled.

"There must be cameras down there," Hummel said, half to himself.

Azarola turned away, blinking to get the brightness out of his eyes, "what makes you say that?"

Hummel chuckled, "that's no march, it's a parade."

"What's going on?" A voice spoke behind them.

"War, David."

They all had retreated back to camp, back to the shade as the heat grew and grew. Hummel simply sat and rested, occasionally scanning the area, while the others ventured back and forth from the shade to the overlook, observing the army, then retreating to the shade when the heat became unbearable. Finally it was lunchtime, and since they had eaten the berries Hummel had "borrowed" from the officer's store, it was back to nutrient blocks.

Fortune refused to eat, pacing back and forth in the shade between constant trips to the overlook. Azarola moved back and forth, bringing himself to nibble his nutrient block while fidgeting on the other side of the camp from Hummel, who simply took a seat on a rock, ate, and drank. David sat across from him, bothering him with inane questions.

"Where are they going? Why are there so many of them?" He asked.

"You live here and you don't know, so you're asking the offworlder about what they want here?"

David agitatedly patted his knee, "yes, but you're from farther into the core, you know more about them."

Hummel could only groan, he'd hoped to stump David, but this half-cocked logic was forcing the discussion on, like an army marching through the desert. He took a bite from his nutrient block and chewed, hoping to bore David into submission, but he sat tense, watching, waiting for an answer. Hummel swallowed, the dry block forcing itself down his throat, that was growing sore in the desert.

"My guess? Taxes." Hummel stated, deadpan.

David leaned forward, "taxes?" he exclaimed. He slapped his knee and fidgeted so much that Hummel for a moment got excited, thinking he was about to keel over. "But what is there to tax? The desert, there's nothin' here for 'em, there's an army!"

"I don't know," Hummel sighed, leaning away from the madman, "they want to get something or kill someone they don't like. What else is there?"

David let out a slow, long breath, and leaned forward, slowly. "You don't seem to concerned with this."

"I'm used to seeing soldiers, if anything I was more concerned when I didn't see them here."

"And where's your brother, aren't you worried about him out there?"

Hummel locked eyes with the man now, his brow set. "No. He's out, and this is my camp, with my family, and this only concerns my family. People can move on if that makes them feel unwelcome."

David said nothing, simply narrowed his eyes and stood promptly before walking to the other side of the camp. Hummel tried to drink from his water tube, it was empty. He went to refill his pack, and while he was at it, inspect their water supply as a whole.

Azarola approached Fortune, who's legs were wobbling under her, she had just moved back to the shade, her face was red, sweat running in small rivers down her face. She rested an arm against the rock to support herself. Azarola snapped the top of the block, which he had chewed, off, before tapping her on the shoulder and offering her the rest. She took it and slid down the rock wall, falling into a sitting position.

"It's just some, pre-battle nerves." Azarola said. He pulled out his reserve canteen and handed it to her. "Here, it'll pass, just breathe for a minute."

Hummel had known the feeling before, the waiting was terrible. While Fortune had participated in some small skirmishes, Azarola was completely green, that feeling of waiting, knowing a big fight was going to happen, sat at an uncomfortable spot. You obviously didn't feel safe, but you weren't in the sort of overwhelming danger where you simply acted, instead you could sit on your feelings with no way to act on them until the battle started, and the nerves dragged that time out far too long.

Talk in the camp was minimal, Fortune and Azarola occasionally spoke together in hushed tones, but otherwise everyone just sat and waited as the suns set, the interminable sound of the marching army droning on the whole time. It seemed that Fortune and Azarola knew there was something more to this mission, the giant army being a small giveaway, and David was clearly growing suspicious too. Yamamoto had only told hummel about the jedi, and that was a secret he couldn't share. For now they were unsettled, but manageable, hearing that the jedi were still a threat to the empire? He couldn't risk whatever freak reaction that could cause, not now.

However, the camp did settle in the evening, but not as one camp. David had left the camp for a few hours, but returned in the evening and didn't quite merge back with the camp after Hummel's conversation with him. He sat on the opposite end, and kept his hands on his blaster more than usual, and more than Hummel was comfortable with.

"What do we do with him?" Azarola asked. He and Fortune were sat behind Azarola, the evening had dragged the shadow out and split the camp into halves. Thankfully, they were in the shade, all watching David as he watched them. The AT-AT's steadily thumping in the distance.

"I don't know, I'll just drive him off tomorrow." Hummel said.

"I say blast 'em."

"What?" Fortune hushed, trying to keep her exclamations quiet from David. "You're as bad as him."

Hummel chuckled, "girl's got a point."

"Are you guys serious with this?" Azarola hissed. "He knows something's up, I'm not sleeping with some cyborg creeping around camp. He follows us just as a big battle's about to go down? Even though he's got no reason to? Yeah, right."

"He was on holovid!" Fortune said, making energetic, vague hand motions to make up for the missing volume. "Besides, he's probably just nervous like us, so he wants to stick around. What's wrong with that?"

"He makes a move he's out." Hummel stated. "Azarola, you on it?" He asked, turning to the private.

His eyes were wide for a moment, until he snapped to attention. "Sure, I'm on it sarge." Azarola even offered a small smile, despite the grim business proposed.

"This is what I was worrying about." Fortune continued to ramble, "one of us snapping under pressure!"

Hummel made the slightest possible turn to her, and held up two fingers. "First, two to one, you're overruled, but second, corporal, I have seniority, I give the orders." After giving Fortune a dressing down, he turned to Azarola, "Private, feel free to get some rest, we're on first watch tonight."

Fortune and Hummel didn't speak during their watch, Hummel dragged out the first watch to drag out Fortune's punishment, keeping her up most of the night. Azarola managed to sleep, which would surprise even himself the next morning, but for now the AT-AT's boomed all through the night, and that was the only sound to be heard. David didn't sleep, Hummel watched him inject himself with stims, with the help of his internal cybernetics, David would be able to stay awake all night.

Watchtower had called in, asking for an update on Yamamoto, Hummel stated there was none. Hummel also made a request for more water, and was assured that a squad would be diverted from the regiment to deliver some.

If Yamamoto didn't return tomorrow, questions would be asked, and if he wasn't back the day after, they would only be able to assume the worst.

* * *

So it was only natural that Yamamoto did not return. They awoke the next day, and changed into their spare outfits. Still, they were dirty, greasy from sweat and their hair grew less and less composed, and then they sweat through the day, drenching their new clothes regardless. They continued through this day much the same as the last day, waiting, watching the army, and listening to the AT-AT's as they sat in the shade. Watchtower asked for a report in the morning, and one at noon, Hummel could only say that Yamamoto was still absent. At least the water arrived. Unfortunately, stormtroopers arriving to deliver water would be extremely suspicious to David.

Fortune was the first to spot the speeder bikes coming with the water, and had told the others. It was around midday, the suns gave the sand a stark shine, and the troopers on the bikes glinted in the distance. Hummel stood, and, unslinging his blaster, gave Azarola a nod in the direction of David. They both approached him with their blasters in hand, David looked up at them, bags under his eyes.

"Clear out of here." Hummel ordered.

David maintained eye contact, his blaster was resting in his lap, and Azarola gripped his own blaster tightly, his hands going white. David ponderously got to his feet and left without saying a word. Fortune could only watch from the distance, wracked with concern.

The troopers delivering the water approached from the overlook, the lip of which was steep, but manageable on their speeder bikes. 74-zh speeders, more simply, heavy speeder bikes. They were stockier, which allowed them to carry more cargo.

They drifted over the lip of the overlook and came to a stop, leaving their bikes on standby mode, the sandtroopers dismounted and unloaded four small transparent water barrels, two from each vehicle. If they were careful with rationing, this water, combined with their other supplies would sustain them for two days.

"That's all there is?" Hummel asked as they unloaded, Azarola helping move them in with the rest of their water supply.

"Yeah." One of the troopers, the senior of the two, judging by his orange shoulder patch, stopped unloading the water, to deal with the sergeant.

"You have plenty more in that column, and depending on how this all goes down we could be here for a few more days."

"Yeah, look, due to changes in command we're under severe restrictions moving any supplies or personnel on duty outside of the convoy, take it up the chain I'm just deliverin' it."

"So you're just going to let us go thirsty?"

There was an audible sigh through the trooper's helmet, and visibly slumped. "They gave me the water and told me where to send it. I packed up and headed straight over, would you rather I did that or stayed dicking around? What would I have asked anyway? They say 'do this,' I do it, that's the corps. You know that."

Hummel brushed him off, and turned away.

"Hey nerfherder!" The trooper called after him. "Are you going to help us unload or just stand there?"

* * *

"So what are you guys doing out here?" The junior sandtrooper asked Hummel.

They were sat on the rocks, away from the other sandtrooper, who was with Azarola, he had volunteered to clean out and inspect the speeder bike's intake, after the senior trooper had made complaints about the bike's thrust. The troopers had taken off their helmets, in the intervening time, and while the commander was a grizzled nco, much like Hummel. This trooper, on the other hand, looked pretty fresh faced, maybe seeing one or two small engagements, but lacking any true experience.

"Waiting." Hummel said, in his usual charismatic demeanor.

"Well yeah, that much's obvious… No offense, I mean, uh-"

"So what's going on with command at the column?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, "we just march, I got to ride on one of the hovertanks earlier so that was pretty cool-"

"But what's going on? Munitions? Morale? I need details."

"Well yeah man, but, like, I don't know about that. You should ask the sarge." He nodded over in the direction of his comrade.

Fortune walked up behind Hummel, "well, you didn't really make a good first impression on him, did ya sarge?" She asked in a mocking, tired singsong melody. Still, her voice wavered at the end, her body was tensed, and she tapped her foot on the sand as she spoke.

An exasperated breath shot from Hummel, as he turned to face his new opponent. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, from stress or the desert heat. "Richards, I'll have you court martialed if you keep this up, and you can definitely expect me to carry word of this insubordinate attitude to the lieutenant."

The rookie trooper could only watch awkwardly, as though sitting between a political argument that had erupted during an otherwise innocuous family dinner.

Fortune took a breath, "well how about I do something constructive then?"

"Sure."

She looked to the trooper instead, "you didn't happen to see anything out of the ordinary on the way over here did you? You can answer that at least."

He seemed to consider this for a moment, but replied with a uncertain "no?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Any movement around here? Unattended vehicles or equipment? Weird shapes?"

"No."

"What is this about?" Hummel asked.

"I don't know," she stumbled over her words, "I just have a feeling I can't shake, like we're being watched, or something." She squirmed as she tried to form the words to explain what she was thinking. "I've been worried about this, since we left, and I thought it was going to go away, but-"

Hummel stood up, and walked toward her, "drop it, just get something to drink, sit, take a breath."

"But I know something's going to happen, but I don't know what!"

Hummel sighed, his shoulders slacking as he crossed his arms and looked at the floor. "Do you think we can do anything about this?" He finished, meeting her eyes once again, which darted back and forth.

"I don't know, I mean, we could leave, bu- but maybe that would be the problem, I- anyway, we can't strand the lieutenant out here."

"Exactly. So you can worry, or worry and do your job."

Fortune didn't exactly look comfortable, but she stiffened her chin, and her trembling slowed. She took a deep breath and walked away with leaden feet.

"Just take it easy." Hummel called after her, "won't do any good wearing yourself out," he grumbled to himself.

* * *

Noon turned to evening, with the lieutenant still absent, which Hummel reported to Watchtower. The water delivery team had left hours earlier, the three were left with the distant booms of the AT-AT's walking in the distance. Now, it was time to eat, a hearty feast of nutrient blocks.

Hummel walked up to the dewback and snapped the saddlebag open. He took out three nutrient blocks, noting that the bag was getting empty. He rested two on the bag, and broke open the first. The outside of the blocks were hard, and it snapped open with an audible crunch, crumbs spilling onto the sand, however, the insides were soft, the very centers being an unappetizing chewy paste. They were bland and dry, but they fulfilled most of a trooper's dietary requirements, were easy to store, and were full of preservatives. Perfect food to feed an army with. Having broken the third block open, he pulled a black pill from his pocket, and stuffed it into the mushy center, before grabbing the top half, and sticking it back onto the other half.

He had taken the pill from Azarola's pack, while they had no medic, they still had first-aid supplies, and all troopers at least knew the very basics. The black pill was a heavy duty painkiller, and while it wasn't designed to be used as a sedative, it would do in a pinch. He handed one block to Azarola, who had busied himself cleaning and inspecting everyone's weapons. Then he approached Fortune, he took a bite out of the second unbroken block as he approached her, she was sitting away from Azarola and the dewbacks, sitting exhausted in the shade. She looked up as he approached, and extended the third, cracked, lopsided block to her.

"Odd that it's broken," Fortune said, "they're pretty durable."

"I stepped on it."

"Seriously?"

"It was an accident!"

Fortune sighed, and slumped. "Naturally I get the broken one."

"Yeah, because I went and got it for you. I'm not goin' to waste it, and if you want the best blocks you'd better damn well get 'em yourself. Besides, I dusted it off."

Fortune looked between him and the block, and extended a hand to grab the block. Before she struggled to get up and reach, Hummel closed the distance and set it in her hand.

"Thanks," she said weakly.

Before he turned away, Hummel noticed her foot was tapping again.

"What the hell's wrong with her?" Azarola asked quietly. The sun was nearly set, they were sat by the fire, Fortune sat on the other side of the fire, half asleep.

"I don't know. I gave her a sedative though, put her out for a while."

"Good, I mean, I've been working with her for a couple months now, but I've never seen her like this. Still, she's got me worried."

"It'll be fine, I've seen people like her before, some people just crack. Sometimes you can explain it, sometimes you can't. Better we keep her under control though, a guy in the field that goes like that's dangerous, for everyone."

"Yeah…"

"So, you cleaned out the weapons?"

"Yup, sand gets in 'em quick, I just wanna keep my mind busy, y'know? Anyway, they're all looking good."

"Good. You inspect the DLT-19?"

Azarola looked away, "nope."

"Well, you didn't look over all of them then did you?" Hummel said with a grin. "Fortune!" He shouted. Her eyes flickered open. "We're going to take first watch, get some sleep." Her eyes shut and she slumped over into the dirt.

"I'll get her sleeping bag." Hummel said, getting up from the fire, "go grab the case for the 19."

Hummel had put Fortune inside of her sleeping bag, and met Azarola by the overlook. They could see the army, which had stopped now, it seemed they had stopped for the night, off the road, at the location Yamamoto had suggested. Their silhouettes lined the road in the distance under the clear black starry sky, their position behind the ridge seeming as safe as they could possibly get.

"Here, open it up." Hummel said. Azarola took the metal case, and popped it open. The DLT-19 Heavy Blaster. While standard blasters allowed for the ability to rapidly send precision fire on infantry and light armour, sometimes it was necessary to take it up a notch. The blaster came in parts, the stock, barrel, and bipod. It also came along with ten gas cartridges, they contained a special gas, specific to use in heavy blasters. It allowed the weapon to fire around 250 times before reloading, with more destructive power per shot, and with ten cartridges that allowed for a rough maximum of 2,500 shots. Theoretically the blaster could handle other cartridges, but it would be require constant reloading and produce much less powerful shots.

They assembled the three parts, ensuring that each part clicked properly into place and locked securely, especially between the stock and the barrel. "Here," Hummel said, trying to pry apart the blaster and stock. "You want to make sure this is secure, I mean, theoretically it won't fire if they're not, but, you don't want gas leaking all over the place."

"Sure." Azarola said, as he swivelled the blaster around on the bipod.

Hummel removed the last piece from the blaster case: The battery. The heavy battery connected at two points under the stock of the blaster. Once Hummel secured them, a small display on the battery lit up, indicating the charge in the blaster was full, and giving a gas pressure and power usage reading, that were both currently at 0. "Press the trigger." Hummel said.

There was a click. The power usage swelled and dropped. "All in normal bounds." Hummel said.

"Cool."

Hummel pulled back a small slide on the side of the rifle and inserted the gas cartridge into the side.

"Fire, wai-"

Red flashes blinded them, exploding in the night.

"I was going to say," Hummel said, blinking, "that you might want to squint."

Rubbing his eyes, he inspected the readout. Power usage seemed natural, gas pressure swelled within normal bounds and drained to low levels. They fired off a few more bursts, and Hummel gave the order to disassemble.

"Already?" Azarola asked.

"Yeah, I just wanted to test it. We tested all our other weapons at the range, but not this. Anyway, looks good. I want to see you disassemble it and clean it. Azarola sighed at first, but soon got lost in the procedure, detaching the parts, pulling back the lever and removing the cartridge. Hummel took the cartridge and set it back in the case. Then Azarola set to cleaning the interior of the barrel. Most importantly, taking a cleaning rod coated in a chemical that would neutralize the volatile residue left in the barrel.

Once they finished, they packed up and returned to camp. Azarola offered to take first watch, Hummel declined and the night passed without incident.

By that morning, Yamamoto had still not returned. While Fortune was still groggy, in fact, all of them were, the decision was made. The decision had to be made. They ate quickly and assembled in the camp.

"He's been gone three days now, we've got to go after him." Hummel said.

"Really?" Azarola asked, "I thought he told us to stay at camp."

"He did, but I'm the one left in charge here now. We don't risk a man getting caught in the field."

"Yeah, no, I agree, I was just saying."

"Richards," Hummel continued, "you good to go?"

"Definitely." Fortune responded. Her voice firm, despite the purple bags under her eyes.

"Really?" Hummel asked.

"It's what we do, help people."

* * *

The plan was to go on foot, to keep a lower profile. They loaded their packs with food and water, Hummel cautioning them to ration the water carefully, and grabbed their weapons. Azarola clipped the DLT-19 case to his pack and loaded up with excess ammo. They ensured that the dewbacks were secure and then looked over their maps to speculate as to where the lieutenant's meeting place could have been. Hummel reasoned that the most likely meeting point would have been a small pocket of small rock towers a few clicks to the Northwest. It was an isolated, elevated position, and was the most obvious entry point to this series of cliffs and valleys from the North.

They had to move out now, while the suns were still low in the sky. Before they left, Hummel told Watchtower about their plan, he was ordered to stay put, but disregarded said order.

"They're gonna get on your ass about this." Azarola said quietly.

"Yeah, but it's not like we have a choice." Hummel grumbled. "Keep it down from here on out."

The suns were up at near midday now. The group broke cover from the rocks and dropped down into a shallow ravine, their boots sunk straight through the sand. Over to their right, the ravine descended, opening up into the vast desert plains. To the left, a rock arch could be seen in the distance, over a lip of glowing sand a hundred meters ahead. The rock rose in all other directions, the only way they could get through, would be to push through these hundred meters. A hundred meters full of sand.

They could only painstakingly raise each boot, and set it down, one foot in front of the other, tugging against the sand as the suns cooked them. They were all red in the face, dragging their feet through the sand, stumbling over themselves several times, they were exposed here, and in looking for the lieutenant, they were also looking for rebels. Despite their civilian dress, if the lieutenant had been captured and interrogated, the rebels may well have decided to shoot any civilian here on sight.

"Move," Hummel panted, "we're nearly there." He said, never breaking sight from the wall in front of him, taking each step, one at a time, and eventually, he made it.

They stopped for a breath at the opposing rock wall, basking in the shade of the rock wall.

"Almost there." He said.

They moved up the dirt ramp, sticking to the shade of the wall, all of them sweating, breathing heavily.

"Hold up." Hummel said, kneeling and raising a fist as they neared the top. "Visors on." He said, they all lowered their goggles, activating their heads up displays. "HUD. Map grid, TA-PRT 60, break, 40, break." His visor pulled up a map of the area. Hummel was looking for where the enemy could hide. There was a small decline, from where they were, before it ramped back up. From there, the area had rock formations, arranged in a loose circle. The rocks on the left and right of that circle were perfect spots for an ambush, not to mention rebels could hide behind the rock arch in the front, meaning they'd be fired on from three different directions if they were caught in the center.

There was a rock up ahead, at the lip of the dirt in front of them. If Hummel could get to it, he would have eyes on the meeting point. He pointed it out to his comrades, "I'm gonna make a move for that rock, move up to the edge here and cover me." He backed away, allowing Fortune and Azarola to pass. They ran forward and lay prone at the top of the . Hummel took a breath and ran.

While trying to keep himself covered behind the rock, he looked out at the meeting spot, beads of sweat tickled his forehead. The decline between them and the meeting spot was empty in both directions. Similarly, the empty space in the middle of the meeting area seemed clear, and so did the rocks to the left and right, although the rocks were arranged in a way that anyone there could easily hide from this angle. Not to mention, if anyone was hiding behind the rock arch at the back, he had no chance of seeing them.

Click! He snapped his fingers, and pointed into the decline, waving his comrades forward. Once they were stood in the bottom, he rushed down himself, checking his momentum as he got to the base. He huffed, "looks clear but that doesn't really tell us anything. We're gonna go and sweep around the right side. We'll follow this trench to start, then sweep around."

Azarola nodded, the group moved forward, with him at the front. The sand was shallower, allowing them to move at a jog, a jog under extreme heat. As they moved up and out of the trench, they could see the army in the distance, parked, waiting for word from Yamamoto.

Having circled around the rock, they noticed it was lined with slopes and ridges, which would make it climbable, unfortunately, it was about twelve feet tall. The handholds they were forced to use were coarse, and scalding at the touch. Still, it had to be done, and troopers did their jobs. At the top, everything seemed clear. Hummel got to the top first, helped up Fortune, then Azarola.

He felt lightheaded.

"Keep low." He whispered.

They laid flat, and crawled to the edge of the rock. The opposing rock seemed clear, as did the meeting spot down below. And Hummel could verify now, that this must have been the meeting spot. There were scorch marks, most likely from a campfire, and some trash littered the area.

"Looks recent." Azarola said.

There was a dull echo in the wind.

"What was that?"

The AT-AT's began to move again Up the ridge the army was parked behind.

"What the hell are they doing?" Hummel asked.

"Adjusting?" Azarola speculated.

Fortune began tapping her foot. "They're moving." She said.

"Yeah, I can see that." Hummel said.

"No, no, like moving out!"

"Why the hell?"

The only thing they could do was wait. Hummel reached into his tunic and pulled out his binoculars, and everything he saw was more worrying. They weren't adjusting the position of just those AT-AT's, the whole army was in a column behind them, ready to move.

"They're launching the attack." Hummel said.

"But they can't, not without word from the lieutenant." Azarola turned to Hummel, "right?"

"Travis was clear on it, he would not risk an attack without at least trying to get word of enemy numbers, what weapons they might be using."

Fortune moved away from the others, taking a knee by rock's edge.

"Well then what the hell are they doing?" Azarola asked.

"I don't know."

"So, what's the plan?"

"Take these private," Hummel set the binoculars by Azarola, "keep an eye out."

"Got it." He said, and began scanning the desert, all the way up to Tusken Point. The AT-AT's moved up the ridge, the army following behind them.

* * *

It was high noon, the entire army was over the ridge, in a column, exposed on the desert planes. Hummel, Azarola, and Fortune were all red in the face and glistening with sweat. Hummel's radio crackled to life, "Fireteam Red, come in over." The ar

"Watchtower, this is Red actual, what the hell's going on?"

"Say again? Clean up your traffic, over."

"Bastard," Hummel breathed away from the mic, "this is Red actual, receiving. Reque-"

"Watchtower copies last, are you available for spotter duties, over."

"Y-yes, bu-"

"Stand by for traffic. We'll patch you through."

"Negative, negative!"

"What's the situation Red?" The operator was clearly trying his best to mask his irritation.

"Have you received word from Lieutenant Yamamoto?"

"Negative, he's still listed MIA."

"Then why has the attack started?"

"We follow orders sergeant, follow yours. Can you provi-"

"Travis isn't giving the orders." Fortune said, offhand.

Hummel covered his mic, "what?"

"You heard," she replied, "ask them who's giving the orders."

Hummel released the mic, "Fireteam Red? Fireteam Red, come in, over." The operator was repeating.

"Who gave the order to attack?" Hummel asked.

"Major Claudius."

"Claudius?" The sergeant got up to a kneeling position. "What about Travis?"

"Travis is no longer in command."

"Sarge!" Azarola yelled, looking up from the binoculars "I see something!"

A flash of light popped from the mountainside of Tusken Point, then, an AT-AT's head burst into a ball of glowing green plasma and fire. As the smoke rose from the wreck, it tumbled on it's side, narrowly missing the other AT-AT's legs. The sound of the explosions reached them slower than the light, the burst of light, the sound of the explosion, and the thud as the AT-AT collapsed. All those resources poured into it, and not to mention the men onboard, pissed away. Hummel yelled into his mic, telling them of the carnage that was unfolding, telling them to pull back. The rest of Tusken Point lit up, big flashes from hidden cannons on the mountain, and streams of heavy blaster fire arcing across the desert, and ripping through the Imperials it met on the other side.

Hummel snatched the binoculars from Azarola's hands and took a look. Hovertanks were being torn in two, shrapnel bursting from them in storms of plasma. Troops scrambled for cover, tried dragging wounded comrades to safety, or simply ran in face of such an onslaught. In the face of such heavy enfilade fire, what else could they do? Troopers who stood their ground died, troopers who took cover died, even the ones who ran couldn't run fast enough. Either a flying blaster shot, or shrapnel sent them sprawling to the ground, as a whole or in pieces.

His shoulder shook. Hummel lowered the binoculars.

"Sarge look!" Azarola yelled, pointing to the sky. A blue transparent field rose from behind the mountain, winged silhouettes following the rim of the field as it rose. Hummel looked back in his binoculars, and wasn't sure what he was looking at, maybe he didn't want to believe it.

"Sanguine wyverns." He muttered.

Just as David described them, gray winged pterosaurs, mottled with dull red. They were larger than he thought, they must have been quite large, as they were carrying what looked like emitters or generators. "What the hell?"

Then he realized, as the wyverns soared over the battle below, over their heads, and behind them, enveloping them in the field. "I don't believe it."

"What?" Azarola asked, "What is it?"

"They're surrounding us in the field, so we can't bring in fire support." He told Azarola. "Watchtower, Watchtower," he spoke into the mic, "do you read, over?" Hummel swallowed, and looked his fellows each in the eye. "They cut off our radios too."

"So what's the plan?" Azarola asked.

"Fall back, to Drepana, not Mos Eisley. They're about as far apart from here, and Mos Eisley's right where they'd expect us to go next."

"Sounds like a plan boss."

"What about Yamamoto?" Fortune asked.

Hummel's jaw stiffened. "He got us into this mess, I'm getting us out. Check your weapons, let's move." They got ready, and just as they were about to climb down from the rock, Azarola stopped. Fire erupted from Mos Eisley in the distance as well, a simultaneous attack, if only Hummel could warn the army stuck down there...

"What about the others?" Azarola asked.

"We'd do no good," Hummel said. "Three blasters against a wall of cannons?"

"No, radio them," Azarola clarified, "they'd be safer up here than down there right?"

Hummel furrowed his brow, "they cut off our communications."

"Yeah, but they're in the bubble."

Hummel's eyes lit up, he pulled out his channel tuner, a small remote that would allow them to switch their radio channels. He tuned and tuned, each echoing explosion a reminder that troopers were dying with every passing second. Finally, he got something. "Come in, hello? This is Fireteam Red, respond."

There was a delay, but a response came through. It was crackling, the opposite mic was clearly overtaxed processing so much blaster fire, shouting, and explosions. "Receiving! This is Gold Actual, we're pinned down here!"

"Gold Actual, Mos Eisley is a no go, regroup, fall back to the West. To Drepana, through the canyon."

"What? We'll break up and get slaughtered in that canyon!"

"You're troopers, you'll hold together through there better than any rebels, and you've got natural cover! Do it or don't do it, just remember I'm the one with the vantage point!"

There was silence, and Hummel worried another man had just died pointlessly in the debate. "We'll do it." Gold actual replied.

"Your call, Red out." Hummel looked over his team. Azarola was definitely nervous, his eyes were wide, and he was blinking rapidly. Still, he kept his composure. Fortune was very much the same, except she looked exhausted. Her eyes looked strained, she looked from side to side, and again, the foot tapping. They would have to do. "Take a quick drink." Hummel said, "breathe, we're moving in one mike."

* * *

They ran to the West, down an incline, the rock was carved in small trenches, towers, peaks, and valleys in all directions. Hummel kept them West as best they could, and as fast as they good.

"You think," Azarola said between breaths, "the lieutenant, snitched on us?"

"No!" Fortune shot back, "he would never, do that."

"He could have been, caught, interrogated, maybe they-"

"Save your breath!" Hummel barked. The sounds of battle were quiet now, there was only their breath, their boots hitting the dirt. Through the overbearing heat, Hummel kept one thought in his mind: Move.

"Oh great, you guys!" His thoughts were interrupted. Hummel brought his blaster level at the voice.

"David?" Fortune asked, in disbelief.

Somehow she was right, David, was standing right there. At this distance Hummel couldn't make out any details, but David looked haggard, slumped over as he was. The first thought was the blaster in David's hand.

"Drop the weapon!" Hummel shouted. He coughed, the running.

"Relax." David said, taking his hand off the barrel and holding it up. "What's going on?"

"You don't know?"

"No, I-" There was a thud, came behind some rocks.

David pointed his blaster at the sound. Hummel made out a blaster barrel, pointing out from behind the rock wall. A shot landed by David's feet, he fired back, there was a green flash from the wall and unbelievably, David's shot came right back at him.

The shot hit David's bandolier. There was a series of red explosions, plasma, and gore. The whole top of David blew away, scorched chunks littering the dirt.

"David!" Fortune screamed and rushed forward, Hummel stepped in front of her, shoving her back with his blaster.

"He's gone! Move, move!" He grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her back, they ran. The rebels opened fire behind them, Hummel took her by the arm, they ran. What else could they do?


	7. Blood, Sweat

**Previously: The rebel trap was sprung, the attack force sent to neutralize the rebel presence at Tusken Point has come under attack, and has been completely enveloped in an energy shield, preventing the Star Destroyers in orbit from providing fire support, and cutting off all radio communications.**

Hummel pushed himself, his legs burned but he forced them to move faster, he had to. His squad kept pace too, they had no choice, no petty complaints of heat or discomfort now, only movement. They ran down an embankment, voices could be heard behind them, closer than before.

"Move! Move!" Hummel shouted, "we just need to get to those rocks." Unfortunately, the rocks ahead was upwards of ten meters away, and across completely open desert terrain. They would die for certain where they were, but crossing that flat terrain, was only near certain death. So he pushed, they ran, and about halfway there the first shot landed between the group. The rebels had them.

Hummel's actions were automatic, he turned, dropped to a knee, returned fire. "Go!" He yelled, "I'll cover!"

He got flat as his allies kept running. He fired at the rock, suppressing the enemy. Red flashes erupted from another rock, he rolled as blaster fire cut through the sands to his side. He shifted fire in response, but he wouldn't last long here. His blaster fire scorched the enemy's position, but one ran past to new cover, one man couldn't suppress them.

"Sarge, move! We're covering!" Fortune yelled.

He picked himself up, and ran.

His head spun, blaster fire whizzed past him, scorching the sand, but he ran until he could throw himself behind the rock. He made it. "Too close." He breathed. "Return fire!"

Thankfully, the enemy seemed to realize that they would have to cross that same open ground as well. Still, there were only three of them, they couldn't outmatch the insurgent's firepower, unless…

"Set up the 19!" Hummel barked.

With a nod, they unpacked it while Hummel suppressed, his now single blaster being overwhelmed in the hail of blaster fire. "Anytime now!"

"Blast it, is it this end?" Fortune asked.

"No, no, this way!" Azarola said, seizing the barrel and stock and clicking them together.

"Just gotta get the tripod on now." Fortune said.

"No time!" Azarola picked up the blaster, "carry the charge pack!"

Fortune struggling behind, Azarola ran to the edge of the rock and laid flat. He opened fire, suppressing the enemy. Hummel ran across open ground to the adjacent rocks. Fortune set down the charge pack and began firing with her blaster again. Azarola kept up the fire with the 19. The enemy was stuck, two were caught before they could retreat. One shot in the chest as he advanced, and the other shot in the back, fleeing when he saw his comrade fell.

Hummel took a step back, in a firefight it was easy to get tunnel vision. The 19 seemed to be working, though it was hard to tell, the enemy was so suppressed that they had completely hidden behind the rocks.

He saw a green light emerge from behind one of the rocks, a short beam. Azarola shifted fire towards it, the shot was deflected, the red bolt flying back and blasting the rock by Azarola. It could be only one thing, a lightsaber. The jedi.

"Fall back!" Hummel shouted, "that blaster's not gonna do us any good." Fortune slung her blaster, Azarola glanced up, about to protest. "I don't want to hear it private. Move!"

Taking their gear, they all made a break for it, running downhill into the mess of rock towers and ridges, a veritable maze without the aid of a compass. They just had to head West.

* * *

As they maintained the retreat, the sun turned from midday to the beginnings of evening. Their legs burned more and more from exhaustion, Azarola was affected the worst as he had to carry the 19. "Still," he said, "at least we're in the shade."

Just as they passed by a rock alcove on their right, a screech pierced their ears, Hummel was thrown off his feet, a pteranodon with mottled, dark red skin towered over him, about the height of three men. A sanguine wyvern.

The team opened fire, the blasters scoring the skin with black scorch marks. It opened its beak and screeched as it turned to the others.

"It's too thick for blasters!" Hummel shouted, "back up!"

The wyvern continued to shriek as it rushed Fortune and Azarola, who fired at it in vain, backpedaling. Azarola barely pushed Fortune aside in time as the wyverns beak struck the sand beside her.

"Cease fire!" Hummel yelled, "I'll get it's attention!"

He stood, fired at the wyvern, then tossed his half empty clip into the sand.

The wyvern turned to him and charged, Hummel ran and dived into the alcove. Drawing his sidearm, he aimed his blaster pistol at the clip as the wyvern passed over it. He fired.

A red blast burned the flesh from the creature's wing, it toppled onto its side, screeching.

"Fire!" yelled Hummel.

With it immobilized, they could concentrate their fire on its head, they fired shot after shot, pouring fire into it, it still kicked and spasmed as it's head was scorched and bored through by their blasters. By the time Hummel had poured most of a second clip into it, it finally slowed to its last death spasms and slow, laboured breathing.

"That was…" Fortune gasped, holding her hand above her nose, shielding herself from the scent of scorched flesh. The creature still kicked out it's back legs slowly, breathing a low death rattle. "It's still alive…" She raised her blaster to finish the job.

Hummel pushed it back down. "We need the ammo, let's go."

* * *

Shells rocked the outside of the command center. Fragments fell from the ceiling, the lights flickered. High Commander Travis stood over the shimmering blue map, squinting in the irregular light. "Shut them off." He said. One of his dark troopers complied immediately, only he was illuminated then, bathed in the solitary blue light.

A captain then burst into the room. "High Commander, sir."

"Do we have any intelligence on the troops trapped inside the bubble."

"No sir, we-"

"Well," Travis turned his attention back to the map. "Taking enfilade fire from those sorts of guns, best write them off."

"Sir."

"What?" Travis snapped.

"Claudius is refusing to take action. He's assured me that orbital support will arrive any-"

"Damnit, he can take my command, but he can't take my suggestions?"

The captain hovered at the door, "sir, what shall I-"

"Take your men and reinforce the barrack's perimeter, I'll see you there."

The captain left, Travis punched in Claudius' communicator code. The holographic map flickered, until Major Claudius' figure appeared, standing above the map. Travis leaned over, and slid the holographic image to the side, shrinking it. He had half the map, and a smaller image of the major.

"Greetings High Commander. Here to make some erudite suggestion? Command is mine, I'll see-"

"Major, move your men away from your position, send them to reinforce the North wa-"

Claudius' hologram raised a hand, "Commander, preservation of our officers is far more important than the lives of replaceable men. All we need to do is stay alive until orbital support-"

Travis slammed the console. "The ships are gone! When was the last transmission you received from them?"

Claudius stifled a laugh, "sir, these insurgents have no capabilities to rapidly disable three-"

"It doesn't matter if they do or do not, what we have to accept, is that we cannot rely on orbital support, regardless of if it is there or not. The same is true of our attack force, all we have is our garrison. Move your guard in the streets, if we lose the initiative then they will encircle us. They will cut us off, you will-"

The hologram went blank, the map took over the screen. The commander punched in his code again. Claudius did not respond.

"Troopers," Travis said. "We're heading to the armoury."

* * *

Alongside the wide range of blasters, launchers, mines, armour, and other equipment, there was Commander Travis' personal powersuit. A combined suit of armour, powered exoskeleton, and electronics. It turned a single soldier into a mobile weapons platform. On top of the expenses, both time and physical resources required to produce such a suit, a suit like this had to be put on with the assistance of a specialized station, which locked each separate piece into place, until the entire suit was formed.

Taken in its entirety, the suit raised his height another half a foot, a hulking mass of moving metal plates, not too heavy, due to the suit's intricately designed weight distribution. In fact, the belief that the powersuits were slow and clumsy was a complete myth based on older, inferior designs. On average, a powersuit increased the user's run speed by around five miles per hour, and with thruster modifications, like the ones Travis' suit was equipped with, the suit gained a plenty of vertical mobility. Powersuits also had a knack for keeping their users alive in extreme environments.

In all, Travis was near immune to blaster fire, blunt trauma, extreme heat, cold, chemical warfare, and even the vacuum of space.

The benefits were sometimes hard to appreciate. Despite the suit's impeccable environmental controls, the suit's interior was stuffy, warm, and humid. This was regardless of if the outside was zero or two hundred degrees. Not to mention, the tight padding, constricting the joints. Much like every Imperial invention, functional, not comfortable.

* * *

Suited up, he and his personal squad of twelve darktroopers pushed past the mess of troopers scrambling in the barracks courtyard, "man the walls!" Travis shouted as he passed his men. "Jacobs, meet me on the Northeastern section of the wall." He spoke into his radio.

Up top, Travis could see the mess Blake had gotten them into in its entirety. Blake's decision to protect his position at the Northwestern guard post had allowed the insurgents free reign to take the spaceport. Judging by the smoke coming from the Northern gate however, the men had bravely resisted the rebels there undermanned, without orders. They had disrupted the enemy advance enough to leave the rebels that had poured into Mos Eisley scattered and disorganized.

They had to strike now, before the rebels could recover.

Thankfully, Jacobs was a prompt soldier, arriving at the wall before Travis. Jacobs, a clean shaven sort, physically and mentally.

"Jacobs, secure the left and right flank, we'll push the center," Travis said, gesturing to his twelve darktroopers, "I don't care how you do it, get it done."

"Sir? You want to push through the center, with only yourself and your squad? That's where the rebel presence is thickest."

Travis grunted in response, Jacobs, understanding the implicit meaning, left to gather a force. Travis and his troops jumped down from the wall, using their thrusters to slow their fall. Travis landed the hardest, his suit's hydraulics absorbing the impact, his whole body was forced down, but held in place by the suit, punching into him, and burning where his flesh slipped along the tight padding. Three of his men landed on the rooftops in front of him.

Travis pulled up his wrist, which held the suit's computer interface. He tapped away, activating the suit's suite of stimulants. The pain from the impact dulled, his head cleared. A dangerous chemical cocktail, withdrawals were inevitable, but he would be in the fight for several hours.

They had fallen into shadow cast by the buildings, the sky was beginning to turn orange.

"How's the view up there?" Travis asked one of his troopers, who had landed on a rooftop nearby. He was the head of Travis' squad, just a number. Number one.

"I see twelve foot mobiles, center of the street, just around that corner on your right." One responded in a monotone.

"Half of you, set up on the left of that street with him, the rest of you, on me." Travis said.

As ordered, half flew up onto the packed buildings, Travis swept around them to the right, reaching the street corner.

"HUD, camera view, Trooper 1." The video feed from one of the troopers on the roof appeared on the corner of his HUD. He saw the rebels were scattered along the street, that would make them harder to hit, but it was clearly bred from disorganization. "Engage."

Blaster fire struck from the roofs, killing several targets before Travis rounded the corner. He fired, using a wrist mounted blaster cannon. Given the blaster's locked position, and the suit's targeting system, it was surprisingly accurate alongside its rapid fire and high power shots.

He caught, again, several rebels before they could react. They fell, Travis gestured for his troops to run across the streets to the adjacent buildings. "Go! Go! Go!"

The rebels were scattered, running back and forth like deranged ants. Some had the sense to run into the mess of buildings and alleys to his right. "You," he pointed, to the men at his right, "push up through the alleys." They went to it as Travis began to push up the street, "you on the roofs, keep covering me."

By now, half the rebels had to already be dead. Travis put shots in the rebels still moving on the ground, and on one of the two rebels still standing in the street. The darktroopers took down the other. No men in the street stood, blaster fire could be heard from the right. Bright red flashed by him, a shot, one of his own. Travis turned, a dead rebel was crumpled behind him, smoke trailing from the corpse.

"I'm helping them in the alley, push closer to the spaceport and hold." Travis said.

"Yes sir."

He ran forward, past the sounds of blaster fire, and turned to one of the alleys.

A rebel, fleeing from his troops, ran right into him. Travis soaked up several shots, and clubbed him to death with a quick hit from his mechanized hand. One more ran by, trying to climb over a low wall. Travis raised his arm to fire, but one of his darktroopers made the shot first. They then activated their thrusters and began hopping on the rooftops, Travis following close behind.

* * *

The area around the spaceport, naturally, had the heaviest fighting. The wide street was a mess of bodies and wrecked vehicles, civilians cowering in the side streets facing the chaos of Outer Rim lawlessness, brought back to Mos Eisley. In the face of minimal resistance, the rebels clearly thought they had won the battle, they had broken ranks and began looting houses and executing civilians who put up resistance, or who were deemed Imperial sympathizers.

"We need to clear this area, give the civilians a clear path back to the barracks." Travis said.

"Copy that."

"Same procedure. You on the left, on the roofs, cover us. I'll push center. Other half, get to that overturned speeder on the right of the street. Everyone got it?"

"Affirmative," the response came through, Travis looked to his left, seeing the silhouettes of his darktroopers on the rooftops.

"On my word."

Their next engagement would happen over a much larger area. The men on the left would have an easy time picking out targets in the opening ground, but when ordered to advance, they would be pushing into unknown territory, they risked being swarmed by insurgents hiding in the mess. The men he would send on the right would have no risk of being flanked, once got into cover their right flank would be covered by the wall of the spaceport, and their left flank was covered by Travis. The trick was, they had to cross a lot of open ground to reach that cover.

Then there was Travis, who would be standing in open ground. The suit would have to hold against all the rebel firepower, and Travis would need to have enough firepower himself to cover the men pushing on the right flank.

Travis jumped down into the street, no longer feeling the stress of the impact, the stimulants dulling that pain. He walked into the wide open street, and turned his speakers on loud.

"Get clear, this is a combat area! Keep your head down, and vacate the area!"

Every civilian heard Travis' warning, unfortunately, so did every rebel. Travis fired off a smoke grenade to his right, and activated his shoulder mounted missile launcher as blaster fire filled his view. From the red haze, he picked out the targeting data from his HUD, small red squares, and fired. Several missiles sprang forth, seemingly flying of their own accord before snapping and flying toward their targets.

The street ahead erupted in several bursts of sand and smoke. The blaster fire slowed, sporadic shots. "Move up!"

The darktroopers on his right rushed through the smoke, Travis kneeled, suppressing the enemy while keeping as low a profile as possible, given his armour. The troopers on the rooftops to his left fired at the rebels, who were forced to take cover and focus on the new threat flanking them.

The troopers and Travis were free to advance, and the rebels, facing superior firepower, and risking being outflanked, were forced to retreat. That was when the killing really began.

It was a historical reality, blasters or no, that a battle had relatively few casualties until one side broke ranks, then it was a slaughter. It was a modern truth as well. So Travis and his men advanced, cutting down rebels as they went, who fled at the sight of Travis and his soldier's distinct black armour.

Travis spotted a smoke trail approaching him, too fast for him to react. The missile detonated at his feet, shrapnel and smoke flew across his screen, he fell onto one knee, deaf. His suit's sonic dampeners blocking out the noise of the explosion. He tried to stand, his right leg failed to respond, under the armour it pulled uselessly at the hulk of metal it was encased in.

Travis caught sight of the rebel who had fired, seeing that Travis hadn't been killed, the rebel in question dropped his launcher and ran. Travis raised his arm and shot him as he fled. Travis tried to move his leg again. The mechanism seemed to try and move, but was stuck on something. "Guys, I think some shrapnel's caught in my leg." There was a loud scrape behind him. Travis glanced back, a darktrooper had already arrived, ripped said shrapnel free. "Thanks."

"The joint's been damaged, it'll be a little stiff sir."

Travis stood, his leg dragged in the sand for a moment, but he managed nonetheless.

"Everyone ok?" He asked.

"9's hit sir."

"Bad?"

"A graze."

Travis inspected the battle. He could only see three troopers on the rooftops ahead. "Why are those roofs empty?"

"Had to engage a flanking force sir."

Travis looked to his right, seeing the burn mark on number 9, and looking afield, saw the civilians lost and cowering in the face of battle. "Ok, you," he pointed at the troopers to his right. "Escort these civilians back to the barracks, we'll push on ahead."

"Yes sir."

It took a few minutes to meet the others, a busted leg and only six of his men, some would say Travis was in over his head.

Travis activated his thrusters and landed on the roof, his leg buckling as he landed.

"Permission to speak sir." Number one asked.

"Yep."

"We have a different target, don't we?"

"That's right number 1."

* * *

Since Travis and his men had crippled the rebel presence in the center of town, Jacobs and his men on the flanks could easily close and take the center of town. Travis and his men had to finish their job to ensure that the rest of the defence could be conducted as smoothly.

With minimal incident, they moved through town to the Northwest side of the wall. Here, Blake had assumed command of the guard once the attack on Mos Eisley had commenced. The compound he was residing in lay by the wall, a squat, single story building with an eight foot wall around, creating a small perimeter. The traditional, white armoured stormtroopers manned the wall, aiming their blasters at the new targets as they appeared on the rooftops, going slack as they realized it was Travis.

They were allowed inside, the men were clearly pensive, forbidden to help their brothers in the defence by Blake, they could only watch the rebels burn Mos Eisley, waiting for the orbital support to arrive, support Travis knew wasn't coming. The only ones who seemed content with their orders were those surrounding the guard post structure itself. Blake's personal guard, probably assigned by his father. Better trained than the rest, and loyal to Blake, not the legion.

Travis waved to his men, the darktroopers drifted into the crowd, covertly taking up positions within the crowd or the compound's approached the door of the guard post, one stepped between him and the door.

"You know I have permission to enter." Travis said.

"Blake has ordered us to deny your entry specifically."

Travis turned and walked away from the door, raised his arm and smacked the lock on his wrist. The clip for his wrist mounted cannon dropped free, he rotated the ammo belt on his wrist, and smacked the lock back into position. He looked over the other troopers manning the wall and patrolling the interior. "If you want to help. Stay out of the way." One of the door guards aimed his blaster at Travis.

A shot from the crowd manning the walls bored through the guard's chest, in that moment, Travis fired off his thrusters, spun and crushed the other guard against the wall, cracking his spine and the wall behind him. His darktroopers poured from the crowd, Travis ordered half to take the front door, he and the other three used their thrusters to reach the roof.

One of Travis' missiles blasted a hole in the roof, Travis and his men fell into the breach, pouring through the smoke with their thermal vision enabled. Travis fired a quick thruster blast as he fell, landing on one of Blake's troop. His damaged leg left him no ability to gloat over the crumpled corpse, his leg was too rigid, catching at an angle he fell face-first as the swarm of blaster fire flew overhead. His rear camera showed a stormtrooper closing fast, again, he activated his thrusters to quickly rise and crack his skull with a swift punch. Blake's men had numbers, but they were attacked from multiple angles, surprised, and lacked the elite ability and equipment of Travis' darktroopers.

Soon, Blake was the only one left standing, aiming straight at Travis.

The shots were useless against Travis' powersuit. Travis aimed his wrist cannon at the ground below. The explosive shots blew shrapnel into Blake's feet, he fell over, leaning onto a table for support. Travis limped near, and slammed him into said table.

"You'll, regret this Travis!" Blake cried.

"Not yet."

With Travis' command completely restored, troops moved from the post to take an active role in the defence, and with the excellent work of Jacobs, Mos Eisley's interiors were quickly cleared out, the civilians made safe. With the interior clean, Travis recalled the darktroopers escorting civilians to him, as he pursued the rebels to their one avenue of escape. The North wall.

Unfortunately, by the time Travis arrived, the rebel retreat beyond the wall had formed into a fresh attack.

"Someone's reorganizing them." Jacobs said, seeing the rebel force gain cohesion.

"Doesn't matter why," Travis replied, pointing at the clutter of the battle,"let's get this debris, those speeders too, set up as a barricade." With the help of Travis' powersuit in particular, the troops were able to improvise a barricade, shift out the wounded, and bring in a fresh set of reserves just as the rebels attack started anew. Then, Travis ordered his darktroopers to disperse along the line in the hopes that seeing the empire's toughest troops at their side would give his men the will to see the attack off.

* * *

The artillery hit first, bursts of red energy erupting from the ground, incinerating anything that it touched. Officers and NCO's could only give orders to disperse and hope for a lucky draw, but they couldn't give up the wall, especially because rebel speeder tanks could be seen on the horizon.

A trooper ran over to Travis and Jacobs by the wall, narrowly dodging a burst of plasma kicking up from the sand.

"Where's 3rd squad?" The trooper asked, sliding his back into the wall, turning to the two troopers next to him.

"Over there." Jacobs pointed to a smoldering ruin a few feet away, surrounded by corpses. A fresh squad of reinforcements jogged up to the barricade.

Travis fired a few shots into the air to get their attention. "They'll be your new command trooper."

"Yes sir." The NCO responded and ran over to the newcomers, "keep your head down," he shouted in the distance.

"What's the plan?" Jacobs asked.

Travis' anonymous visour held Jacobs' gaze, "this is it."

Jacobs swallowed any doubts he had and stood, firing on the encroaching enemy.

"We have those spotters up?" Travis asked.

"Yes sir, coming online now." A voice in his radio replied.

Sure enough, several red targeting squares appeared in Travis' hud. These targeting sensors on the wall would allow Travis to get a lock on targets without exposing himself. He activated his shoulder cannon, and fired off several shots, which arced through the air, and back down onto their targets. Clusters of infantry, and lightly armoured speeders. Unfortunately, his rockets wouldn't punch through the heavier armour. That was where their tanks came in. Their walkers, had been lost on Tusken Point, so had most of their speeder tanks. Still, two had been kept in reserve: TX-130T Saber Tanks.

Grey hovertanks with a low profile, thick armour, and heavy beam cannons, capable of punching through nearly anything with sustained fire. An updated, but practically unchanged design from the Clone Wars.

"Get those sabers set up behind the barricade." Travis ordered, "no risks, set up in cover, minimal exposure. Focus on the heaviest targets, we'll take care of the rest." The two tanks parked on either side of the barricade, only exposing their cannons to enemy fire. With the tanks neutralizing the rebel armour, and the rest taking care of everything else, the rebel advance slowed to a near halt, digging in at their own vehicle wrecks or patches of rock. If it weren't for the three Y wings growing larger and larger on the horizon, Travis would have assumed the battle was won.

"Disperse! Get down, bombers!"

"Fire on those bombers!" Travis shouted.

Once the order was given, they could only wait, hunched down behind whatever was available. Fire from both sides slowed to a near stop, waiting for what was to come next, the humming overhead became audible, and quickly grew louder. Missiles arced lazily in the air towards the bombers, some of Travis' among them. Flares drew most of them of course, one struck home, the bomber tumbling to earth, but the other two proceeded on course.

Anyone by the tanks had it the worst. The bombers, they must have been hidden inside the caverns of Tusken Point, had clearly been sent to take them out first. The rebel artillery was clearly too inaccurate to hit them, the bombers weren't. The distinct design of the sabertanks became unrecognizable on impact, the crew were simply gone inside, vaporized, the structure of the tanks were shattered, only fragments and plates scattered the dirt. Anyone nearby cooked inside their armour in the face of such extreme temperatures.

Shrapnel ripped through anyone a few feet away from the blasts. The flanks of the barricade were crippled, if they were to try and extend their men to cover said flanks, their fire would be too widespread to combat the enemy force, and Travis knew when he was beaten. "Fall back! Fall back!"

"What's the plan now?" Jacobs asked as they ran back behind Mos Eisley's wall, blaster fire emerging anew around them.

"We'll take them out the old fashioned way, they'll be forced to come through the gate, unless they're smart."

"Yes sir."

* * *

They had barely time to clear the road before the tanks rolled in. Travis ordered men with AT launchers to hide in the buildings lining the main road into Mos Eisley, the rifleman fell back, taking cover to provide enfilade fire as the rebel infantry poured into town.

"Hold men." Travis spoke to the AT soldiers as the rebel armour drove in. AAC-1 Speeder Tanks. Capable of rapidly turning and moving in any direction, with forward facing cannons in the front, lining the twin cockpits, and a rotating set of twin missile bays in back. They were a rather cheap design, easy to produce with minimal resources. Ultimately, they were squat, pill shaped, dull grey things, with only orange highlights of paint.

Again, the tanks were cheaply made, which generally manifested in overheating problems, solved with cheap coolant systems in the sides of the tanks. Once they passed by the hiding AT soldiers, they could hit directly into said cooling units and destroy them utterly. When the coolant units were fired, the missiles bored straight through and exploded practically inside the vehicle, igniting more delicate power sources and ammo dumps inside. They went up in dazzling, multicoloured explosions that sent shrapnel flying into the accompanying infantry.

Imperial commanders had a tendency to either play completely defensive, or far too aggressive. However, Travis knew when to attack, now when the rebel's morale was close to breaking, as they fled in sight of their prospects literally going up in smoke. Travis gave the order.

"Charge!"

With a volley from Travis' shoulder missiles, the imperials advanced. Again, once the rebel line collapsed, it turned into a slaughter, with a catch. While the bottleneck by the gate had allowed the exploding tanks to cripple the surrounding infantry, it was now a tight, smoke filled corridor. Many troopers were killed by rebels hiding in the debris as they advanced. Travis was narrowly saved by his armour, as the rebels attempts to shoot or even pummel him were met with swift mechanized punches, crushing their skulls on impact.

When they finally pushed through and reclaimed the gate, and passed their improvised barricade, they found the surviving rebel force was surprisingly small, fleeing, the healthy dragging the injured across the desert. Into the expanse of bodies and smoldering wreckage. A small force stood steadfast in these ruins, taking cover behind the remnants of their attack. One stood in the open, a blue beam of light emanating from his hands. The beam didn't drift into the orange sky above it though, but stopped itself at the length of a sword.

A lightsaber. The jedi.

Travis looked over his men. Tired was one word to describe them. Depleted was another, They had lost more of the garrison than Travis had realized. A force of two hundred, reduced to seventy. Three of his darktroopers had been killed in the carnage as well. Nine remained. And a last word? Stunned. Travis had been briefed on the jedi. None of his men had, most of his men didn't believe there were any jedi left.

His men's morale stood at a razor's edge.

"How about this?" The jedi asked in the distance, his voice distorting in the wind. "A duel, single combat. Whoever wins, this attack stops."

The more beleaguered men tried to hide their glances toward Travis, the vets kept their blasters ready.

"How do I know you'll keep your word. Once I'm dead, who are you obligated to?"

"My word as a jedi."

Travis slacked his posture, breathed, and primed his rocket launcher. "Not good enough."

Three missiles took flight, blaster fire on both sides resumed. When the smoke from the rockets cleared, the jedi was gone. Travis dragged himself and his busted leg behind the barricade, and planned to resume his strategy from earlier. Spotters on the wall provided targeting data, he fired the missiles.

Planned to resume. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, even shoulder mounted rockets. Out of ammo, he was forced to take potshots with his wrist mounted weaponry around the corners of the barricade. "Where's that jedi?" Travis asked.

"No idea sir! He just, dissapea-"

"Calm down! Keep up the fire!"

Both sides were worn down, both sides were tired, their numbers diminished, they traded ineffectual volleys. Even their ammunition was dwindling, some troopers ran along the line with bags of ammo. At least there were plenty of spares.

"Sir, I see him!" One of Travis' spotters cried out.

"Where?"

"Right by the barricade!"

"How did- I have him." Travis saw him through the spotter's camera, the jedi was directly in front of him. Travis flew into the air, knocking the speeder wreck on top of the barricade toward the jedi. The wreck was thrown right back into Travis' face, he sprawled across the desert. Travis fired, the jedi ducked under the shots, as if he predicted the shots coming ahead of time. Still, he was winged, a shot from somewhere grazing his arm. He clutched his arm, Travis aimed to finish the job. Clicks were heard over the screeching blaster fire.

"Blast!" Travis stood as fast as his bad leg could allow. He had one trick left, the flamethrower. The jedi was engulfed in flame, before they were shot right back at Travis, who was left reeling from the shock of it. The jedi advanced, still, patting down the fire. Travis tore a chunk of metal from the barricade, hurling it at the jedi, who simply tossed it back with an invisible force, directly into his damaged leg. Travis toppled over face-first, he pulled himself up in time to see blue light overtaking his vision, he covered his face instinctively.

The blade cut clean through armour that had stopped shot after shot earlier that day. His hand was cut clean from his arm. An unseen force gripped Travis and flung him effortlessly at several troopers that rounded the side of the barricade. The jedi pushed on, slaughtering troopers as he went

"Travis?" One of his darktroopers called over the radio. "Stay put sir, we're coming."

Travis didn't hear their voices. He didn't hear anything, he didn't really see either. Overwhelmed with pain, incapable of accepting it. Shock they would later call it. Shock as his men died around him.


End file.
